#BEFORE THE DAY ENDS. but i made it (with like. 20 minutes to spare)

[stupidanniversaries]

APRIL 12, 2005: a very happy anniversary to my chemical romance & the used's cover of david bowie & queen's 1981 song "under pressure", which was originally released to raise money for the 2004 indian ocean earthquake & tsunami!

[safetypinxtales]

Together with you | Azriel

(Lonely with you pt. 2)

summary: heart break sucks. Missing your friend sucks even more. It is mind-blowing what a little open communication can do.

words: 4.1k

warnings: angst with happy ending, terrible communication at parts (sorry), mention of alcohol consumption, fluff, just general misery, neutrally described reader/no reader description, no use of y/n, dumb idiots in love

notes: so this got a lot more angsty than first anticipated, but here it is! Not sure how I feel about it, I like some parts, not so sure about others - feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!

part 1

Cold. Your bed was freezing cold. And empty. 

Like lying on a frozen slab of stone, utterly alone and undeniably pathetic. Just as alone and pathetic as yesterday, when you woke up on the couch in the living room. No Azriel in sight. Like he wasn’t the one to practically beg you not to leave him alone, and then he went and did that exact thing to you. 

It was humiliating. You were humiliated.

And that was why you had avoided him like he was contagious for all of yesterday, burying yourself in paperwork or hiding away in the library. But your plan was far from foolproof, you’d barely made it through yesterday without seeing him, so today had to be different. If being close to you was so shameful he had to sneak away before you had a chance to wake, you would simply remove yourself from the situation and spare yourself some Gods damned dignity. 

You had already written to Mor, your excuse of needing to get away from the happily mated couple for a few nights only a half lie. You were in desperate need of a good night’s rest, however that was not the most pressing issue at hand. But there was no need for her to know that. Yet. She would find out eventually, she always did, and you would be stupid to expect otherwise. 

Two hours past sunrise should mean that the Valkyrie training would be full and well underway, and thus it would be safe for you to make your escape. You got the things you’d need and made your way up the stairs to one of the smaller balconies overlooking the training ring. You knew you really shouldn’t, because what good would it do? But you had to. Just a quick glance. Quietly you moved towards the railing, scanning the people below. 

There he was, a thing of graceful, terrifying beauty. He seemed to be demonstrating a movement with a training sword for some of the priestesses. He moved with such fluidity, wielding the sword in his hand as if it was an extension of himself. He was like death on swift feet. A fallen angel, a dark prince. 

He was beautiful.

You must have accidentally made a sound, because his head shot up and his eyes zeroed in on you. Oh Gods. The intensity in his gaze, and the increasing pressure in your chest was too much. He didn’t want you. 

You staggered back, one little step and you had winnowed yourself down to the city streets. This was good, you needed to get away. He left you alone. He drew back first. You knew all of this, so why did it hurt such an unreasonable amount?

You rubbed your chest in hopes of getting rid of the tightness that seemed to have moved in there since yesterday morning, and then you set course towards the one stop you had to make before getting to Mor’s. 

-

It had been three days since you arrived at Mor’s apartment with a paper bag filled with the sweetest, sugar-powdered pastries your favourite bakery had to offer. It had taken you both approximately 20 minutes to devour them all, after which you no longer had anything to distract your friend from digging up the truth behind your visit. 

You were in love with someone who did not harbour the same feelings towards you. And you desperately needed to get away from him, to save what remained of your heart. 

You had cried, drank some wine, and then cried a little more. You went back to the bakery for more pastries the next day, and the cycle repeated. 

The crisp, early-spring wind was a menace today as you were on your, now daily, pastry run. You were trying to stop your hair from whipping around like a being possessed, cursing up a storm, when you heard him call your name. 

You froze to the spot, like his voice was some primal command. That insufferable tightness in your chest was as present as ever as you forced yourself to put on your brave face and turned towards him. 

There he was, jogging towards you, his brow furrowed. 

“Hey,” Azriel breathed as he came to a stop in front of you. His shadows swirled out in your direction, but retracted before they had a chance to reach you. 

“Hi,” you mumbled back, suddenly finding the cobbled street very interesting. 

He cleared his throat and took a step closer. You took one backwards. The cobblestone looks different here than in the alley by the bakery. 

“I haven’t seen you in a while… you haven’t been home – at the House, I mean,”  he coughed lightly. I wonder if it was made with, like, a different technique? Or maybe the stones are just differently shaped or something?

“Yeah, no, I’ve been staying with Mor for a bit.” It’s definitely mossier on the smaller streets, maybe that’s why? It just shifts the perspecti–

“Angel, please look at me.” 

You didn’t want to, Gods you didn’t want to. But alas, you seemed to have no power when it came to Azriel. 

Any other day, the worry swimming in those hazel eyes would have melted your heart. Today, it just hurt. “Did I do something? Is that why you… haven’t been around?” 

You scoff, “No, you didn’t do anything, Azriel. It’s fine.”

“It’s obviously not fine! I haven’t seen you in days, and now you can barely look at me?” He exclaimed, exasperation clear in his voice. “Look, I’m sorry if I overstepped, or made you uncomfortable – but I miss my friend,” his hands twitched where they rested at his sides, shadows swirling around him with unease.

“Oh, please,” his brows furrowed further at the dry laugh that escaped you, “Are you being serious, Az? I fell asleep in your arms, after you pleaded with me to stay with you – and then I woke up alone.” His face fell. “How do you think that feels? I mean, you must know how I feel about you!” You cursed yourself for the way your voice quivered, and that damned burning feeling behind your eyes that you were so sick of.

“What– no, I didn’t– what do you–,” he stuttered. He actually stuttered. The spymaster of the Night court couldn’t even come up with an excuse for being an ass.

“Save it. I get it – you were lonely, we’ve all been there,” you muttered, wrapping your arms around yourself, “I have to go.”

You turned back in the direction of Mor’s apartment, pastries be damned. You just had to get away.

Azriel had other plans though. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, the cool wisps of shadows snaking up your forearm. You couldn’t help the way you recoiled from his touch, how it seemed to ignite every nerve in your arm. 

“Wait–,”

“NO!” A sob wracked your body. “No, just leave me alone, Az. Can’t you tell that you’re hurting me?” His face twisted in time with your words, and tears pricked your eyes. “Being around you hurts!” 

His shadows were whipping violently around him, but he was as still as death itself.  Something like dread and confusion were clouding his eyes.

He called after you as you walked away. But he didn’t stop you, nor did he try to follow you. And you didn’t dare look over your shoulder, too scared you might run back and give him the rest of your heart, shattered as it may be. No, instead you carried the shards in your hands, tears rolling down your cheeks, one after the other. 

You weren’t sure how you were ever going to be okay. 

-

The bedroom door creaked open, and you pulled the duvet further over your head.

“Hey sleepyhead,” Mor said in a sing-song voice. You weren’t sleeping.

“I’m not asleep,” you muttered, huffing loudly at the giggle that escaped her.

“Yeah, well, calling you a crybaby would be insensitive so I went for the next best thing.” 

Her comment made the corners of your lips twitch, and you silently cursed her for always knowing how to cheer you up. You had gotten quite comfortable in your misery.

You pulled the covers down and looked over at where she stood. Your chest grew uncomfortably tight when you saw what was in her hands. 

“Another one?” You asked and rolled over to face the window. You had forgotten how stubborn he was. Competitive bastard. 

“Yes, and they just seem to get bigger and bigger. I like the daffodils in this one though, very spring-esque. The other ones didn’t have any daffodils,” she mused as she walked in and headed towards the far end of the room, most likely towards the dresser. It was the only surface area not currently taken up by a bouquet.

This was the sixth bouquet he’d sent. In three days. He had turned Mor’s guest room into a damn flower shop. Just being in a ten feet proximity of this room would have sent Cassian into a sneezing frenzy.

“Remember that time in Elain’s garden, when you told me daffodils were your mom’s favourite flower? That she called you her little daffodil when she carried you in her womb? They are very beautiful – just like you. 

“Yours, Azriel.” Mor read the note before carefully putting it back with the flowers. 

Every set of flowers had come with its own handwritten note. He had apologised in the first one, the rest told you he missed you, recalling memories of moments you’d shared. Each one ended with a heartfelt compliment, one that brought tears to your eyes every time, without fail.

Mor let out a slight sigh. “I am fully on your side here, and I don’t want to pressure you into anything, but… are you sure you don’t want to talk to him? I know you’re hurt, and you have every right to be, but… he’s a good male and he likes you – a lot.” 

She’s right. You figured that out two days ago. But your pride was wounded, and your trust had been betrayed, and it stung. 

However, somewhere along when the initial pain had started to diminish it had slowly but surely gotten replaced by the agony of missing him. Now you didn’t know what part of the pain came from what, you only knew that it hurt. 

But Gods, you really did miss him – more and more by the minute. You missed him in your bones; your best friend, your partner in crime, the male you loved. 

“Alright, you don’t have to say anything. I have to visit Rhysand to go over some work though, and I won’t be home until late tonight, probably. There is food and tea in the kitchen, or you can go down to the pub downstairs and ask them to make you something. Just… make sure to go there earlier in the evening to avoid drunken idiots, okay?” You rolled over to look at your friend, who once again proved herself to be way better than you deserved. You nodded. 

“Thank you,” you whispered and her lips curved upwards in a soft smile.

“Of course, take care of yourself,” she said, that warm smile still intact as she made her way out of the room, closing the door behind her. 

After dragging out your stay in bed a few more minutes, the thought of a warm cup of tea became too enticing to ignore. Chucking on a thick sweater you dragged your feet out of the bedroom.

Once in the kitchen, you put the kettle on the stove and went in search of some tea. Where was the one Mor made you yesterday? The one that felt like drinking a warm, spiced hug – you needed that one right now. You found it in one of the cupboards just in time for the water to start boiling. So you made your cup of tea, drizzled in a little bit of honey, and walked out to the living room. You had just put your tea down and made your way over to the wall of bookshelves to pick out a new story to escape into when there was a knock on the door.

The way your entire body froze, yet seemed to come alive at the same time, signalled you knew who it was. How your body and soul could possibly know it was Azriel on the other side of that door, you weren’t sure. But alas, as you crossed the living room towards the entryway and tugged the front door open, there he was. 

He looked tired. His eyes seemed uncharacteristically old, his skin dull and the bags under his eyes were undeniable. Despite this he still managed to look as breath-taking as always. 

Those tired eyes met yours, and you swore you felt time stop. He was here. Your Azriel. 

Except he wasn’t yours, was he? A truth that only stung worse when your name fell from his lips. But seeing him here, like this… you could live with never having him, you thought. As long as he was in your life, if only as a friend.

That’s why you breathed out a “hi,”, and opened the door wider, a silent invitation to step inside. His shoulders sagged in relief as he stepped over the threshold.

“Hey,” Azriel whispered on a shaky breath, as you closed the door behind him. You stood in silence for a minute, neither of you apparently knowing what to say.

Azriel was the first to break the silence, “so, uh– did you get the…”. Bouquets is what he didn’t say, but he didn’t have to.

“Yeah, yeah I did,” you mumbled, never really meeting his eyes. “Pretty.”

“Yeah? Okay,” you could see him nodding out of the corner of your eye. “Good.”

You raised your gaze to meet his, and your heart clenched. You just wanted things back to the way they were, you wanted your friend back. Because standing here in front of him, not knowing what to say was awful. So you did the only thing you could think of…

“I miss you.” Your voice wavered more than you’d ever care to admit, but there it was – the truth. 

Azriel’s shoulders visibly shuddered at your confession. “Oh, angel,” it was your time to shudder. “I’ve missed you too, so much. I’m so sorry,” his eyes glazed over as he continued, “but please believe me when I say that I did not know – about how you felt. And maybe that makes me stupid, and blind, and oblivious–”

“No,” you interrupted him, “you’re not any of those things, Az.” His deprecating words wounded you so deeply, a heavy sadness filling your chest. 

“I should have known. I never would have– I wouldn’t have been such a coward if I knew.” You swore you heard the remnants of your heart crack. 

“Azzy…” You stepped towards him and reached up to cradle his face in your hands. His own hands flew up to your wrist and you prepared for him to reject your touch. 

Only he didn’t. 

Instead he gently held your hands in place and leaned into your touch in a manner so tender your breath hitched in your throat. His thumbs swiped across the backs of your wrists.

“I’m sorry, I got all up in my head and I–,” you didn’t let him finish.

“It’s okay Azriel, I forgive you.” His posture straightened a little as you continued, “I’m sorry too.�� 

You felt a tear roll down your cheek, and before you could even register it happening, Azriel had pulled you into a hug. He wrapped an arm around your waist, his other hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as he held you against his chest. He was so warm, and comfortable, and safe, and one tear became two, became three. All the while, Azriel held you, wings enveloping you in a cocoon as he whispered sweet nothings into your hair. 

After what felt like hours, but was merely just minutes, Azriel dropped his wings from around you and as you felt his arms ease their hold on you, you took half a step back. His hand that had cradled the back of your head now cupped your cheek, the other came to rest on your hip.

You dried your tears, ungracefully wiping snot from your nose, and you once again lifted your head in search of those hazel eyes you had grown so in love with. And as your gazes locked – that’s when you felt it.

Like the snap of a bowstring, dead center in the middle of your chest, that glowing, golden thread locked into place – forever connecting your soul with the male across from you. 

The impact was so intense you staggered back, knocking into the end table behind you. Your hand flew up to your chest, fingers clutching the fabric of your sweater as you tried to make sense of what just happened. 

Azriel is your mate.

Does he know? Does he even want you? A thousand thoughts swarmed your head, but they were all overpowered by one: mate. He was your mate. 

Azriel stood, one arm still partially outstretched, eyes wide and brow furrowed. Something like bewilderment filled you to an overwhelming degree, and it took you a moment to realise that the feelings did not belong to you. They were all Azriel, unable to keep his emotions from bleeding across the bond to you. 

“You’re my–,” you stuttered.

“Yes,” he breathed in response.

“I– I’m your–”

“Yes,”

“You knew?” His eyes shuttered at your question.

“Yes,”

You had to sit down. 

You wobbled over to the couch and dropped down. You didn’t even realise he’d followed you until you felt the seat dip beside you. 

He seemed to realise words were not something currently in your possession, and took it upon himself to start to explain.

“You were sleeping, had been for probably an hour at least, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. I have–,” he swallowed and his whole body shook as he professed his next words. “I have been in love with you since the moment I saw you. When Rhysand introduced you to everyone and you were trying to sneak glances at all of us, thinking you were being discreet. You weren’t – quite the opposite actually.” You turned your head to look at him. One of those rare smiles decorated his face as he recalled the memory. “I think everyone noticed, but no one said anything. They were all probably as smitten by you as I was. Not only were you so adorable, you were the most divine female I had ever seen. Your eyes shone so brightly, and you radiated such calmness, such security – like every problem that had ever been wasn’t so bad after all. Like everything was always going to be fine, as long as you were around. You looked heavenly. Like an angel.” He whispered the last part and as his eyes met yours you sucked in a breath at the emotion swimming in them. 

Angel. His dedicated pet name for you. What he had been calling you, and only you, since that very first day. Not only were you the only person with that specific pet name – you were the only one of Azriel’s friend to even have a pet name, you realised. Sure, he referred to Rhysand and Cassian as his brothers. But you were his angel. 

“You love me?” You croaked, fresh tears filling your eyes.

“Yes, I do.” You hiccupped, face twisting as your chest filled to the brim with so many emotions you could not possibly name them all. He took your hands in his, and gave them a light squeeze as he continued, “When we were on that couch I was just… watching you. Holding you. Realising how perfectly you fit in my arms, when you moved. You snuggled deeper into my chest, like being close to me was an instinctual need, and then you sighed, and you smiled in your sleep – and I couldn’t breathe,” he took a deep breath, “that’s when the bond snapped.” You wanted to reach out and smooth out that crease between his eyebrows. Instead you just moved closer to him, pressed yourself into his side, and when he looked down at you, you gave it your best at pushing some of that endless love you held for him down that glittering bond. 

A sharp exhale left his parted lips and he gave your still entwined hands another squeeze. When he looked at you his cheeks were tinged with pink, the tips of his ears flushed. 

He loved you. 

He was your mate and he loved you.

“I was so shocked. Why would it snap now and not earlier?” He shook his head, his eyes not once leaving yours. “Then I started to… doubt myself,” his brows furrowed deeper, “what if you didn’t want me? I didn’t even know if you knew. Knew and… and decided you didn’t want to be with me. The Gods know I don’t deserve you.” 

You couldn’t help the broken whimper that escaped you as you listened to this wonderful male voice how lowly he thought of himself. 

“Don’t say that Azriel,” you croaked, your voice thick from crying. “I love you so much. I look at you and my heart fills to a point where I genuinely think it might burst,” you coughed out an attempt at a laugh. “You are a good male, and I could not imagine a greater honour than the Mother choosing you as my mate.”

A single tear rolled down Azriel’s cheek at your confession. You untangled your hands from his, instead crawling into his lap. This wonderful male, and he was all yours. The love that filled your chest felt so secure, so safe. Like the warmth of the morning sun. Like the smell of freshly baked bread, and early morning bird song. It felt like the beginning of something great. 

You raked your hands through his hair, and as you leaned in to kiss that lone tear away from his jaw, you watched his eyes shutter closed. 

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips, your forehead coming to rest against his, “my mate.” 

His hands found your hips and gripped them tightly, and the touch was more than welcomed. If it was up to you to decide, he would never let you go – forever in each other’s embrace. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered once more, breath hot against your lips. “I shouldn’t have–… please don’t leave me again.”

“Never,” you promised, and then, like waves crashing ashore, you leaned in that last bit and pressed your lips to his. 

His entire body shook beneath you as he reciprocated the kiss, moulding his lips to yours and you couldn’t help but notice how incredibly right it felt. Like coming home. And as your lips moved together that glowing thread became a wild, real, physical thing between you. His hands gripped you tighter, like you were his lifeline. Pulling you impossibly closer, as if you were the air he needed to breathe. His tongue swiped over your bottom lip and your lips parted, letting your tongues meet in the most delicious of ways. 

The kiss was claiming, overpowering and you could not help the whine that escaped you as his fingers dug into your sides. A primal growl rattled deep in his throat, alighting every nerve in your body. 

This.

You wanted to stay right here, just like this, forever. 

-

You didn’t know how long you actually did stay like that – the two of you seemed to, again, be able to defy the concept of time together. But you were now laying on the couch, Azriel’s heart drumming a steady beat in your ear, a warm, overwhelming comfort overtaking your body. 

Slowly, you started to feel yourself drifting off to sleep, and with your head on his chest, his arms around you, the opening and closing of the front door and Mor’s voice that followed, felt so very far away. You almost didn’t apprehend what she said as her voice moved in closer.

“You better not leave her this time,” she ordered, and the rumble of Azriel’s voice, how very safe it made you feel, lulled you deeper and deeper into unconsciousness. 

Your body was impossibly heavy, the words he mumbled into your hair the last thing you registered before sleep claimed you.

“I won't,” he pressed a kiss to your head, “never again.”

tags: @hnyclover @justdreamstars @historygeekqueen @sharknutz @icey--stars @mel-wcst @alysena2 @lewsnumerounofan

[beomiracles]

for kinktober i'd like to request taehyun + public sex & beomgyu + cockwarming <3 thank u!

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

DAY 13 : CHOI BEOMGYU + COCKWARMING — “Getting your dick wet isn’t enough?” You seethe, fingers twisting in his dark locks and Beomgyu shivers under you, cock twitching at your words. “Need to get fucked dumb until you’re satisfied.” 

Cock Warming is a sexual act consisting of holding someone's cock in either a mouth, or another orifice, as if to keep it warm with body heat.

pairings beomgyu x fem!reader warnings cockwarming, sub!gyu, meandom!reader, little bit of hair pulling, creampie, kind of edging I guess?, beomgyu gets called puppy, mentions of oral (f. rec) towards the very end.

#serene adds ✎ erm, I love puppy!gyu agenda sorry not sorry :> and I've received more than one request for public sex with taehyun so it's happening too, though in a week or so :3

i’m 20 minutes late because of @bamgyw ‘s fugly ass THIS SHIT ACTUALLY SLIPPED MY MIND SO BAD. this is what i get for not trusting tumblrs schedule option

EVENT POST

“Stay still”, you hiss, the small command is met by a mere whine as Beomgyu’s face buries deeper in the crook of your neck. You tsk, gaze slowly returning to the movie in front of you as you let yourself get immersed in the painfully obvious storyline. It had been a terrible choice of film, and just as you were about to suggest turning it off, had Beomgyu pressed his hard cock against the curve of your ass, murmuring a shy request that you had been unable to deny. 

Alas you continued to sit through the agonizingly cheap and badly directed movie, except this time with Beomgyu’s throbbing erection nestled deep inside of you as he struggles to remain composed. — He’d promised to be good, promised to be both quiet and still, you wouldn’t even know that he was there. That’s what he’d said. But Beomgyu was a terrible liar. 

He’s practically panting against you, his heavy and warm breath fanning across the exposed skin of your neck and shoulder. You feel him swallow, his fingers twitching in the fabric of your shirt as he bunches the garment up. — “Please.” The quiet whisper is almost inaudible and you barely catch it over the lame fight scene on screen. 

“Hm?” You don’t spare him more than a soft hum, not bothering to turn and face him as your eyes remain trained to the Tv. Beomgyu impatiently huffs behind you, thighs tensing before he relaxes against the couch once more. — A minute later, he tries his luck again. “Please, more.” 

His plea makes your brows twitch and you regard him through the corner of your eye. “More? But I thought the whole point was for this to be low maintenance.” — Beomgyu remains silent as he bites the inside of his cheek. The slight shift of his hips makes his cock brush up against you in a way that almost has you shudder and you hold off a small sigh. “Besides”, you continue as you turn back to the movie, “I’m enjoying this one, you can’t seriously expect me to turn it off now?”

That was a lie, the movie was complete trash, but he didn’t have to know that. 

A soft whine escapes his bitten and swollen lips but he falls silent after that as his chest slumps against your back defeatedly. — It was endearing really, having him so worked up beneath you whilst doing something as mundane as watching a movie together. Though you were unable to ignore the way your cunt would occasionally clench around him, drawing strangled moans from him as Beomgyu held his tongue.  

Another fifteen minutes pass, by now you’d manage to guess every single plot twist of the film as well as the obvious ending. The cheap costumes made their budget clear and you wondered why they had even pursued the ordeal. Even the actors were mediocre and awkward, delivering their lines with either too much enthusiasm or none at all. — The only thing keeping you from going completely insane was the consistent throb of Beomgyu’s cock, joined by his labored breaths, fanning across your shoulder blade. 

“Please”, his voice is hoarse, laced with desire as he ignores your previous command of silence, “I-I can’t take it anymore..” Maybe it was the way the words rolled off his tongue, or the way his large hands clawed at your hips, or even the way his body trembled against yours, as if he was on the verge of breaking out into tears. 

With one swift motion, you reposition yourself on his lap, turning to face him, the movie easily discarded. — “Can’t take what?” You jeer, grabbing a fistful of his hair as you pull his head back. “Can’t take the privilege of being allowed inside my cunt?” Your eyes narrow down on him, catching his breath hitching in his throat, prominent adam's apple nervously bobbing as he swallows a gulp. “I give you so much, but it’s not enough for you?” A tug to his hair makes him whine as his hips buck, raising himself off the couch in an attempt to feel you clench around him. 

“Spoiled fucking puppy”, you grunt, leaning forward to press your lips against his in a kiss long overdue. Beomgyu groans into your mouth, practically licking your face as his greedy tongue darts out to meet yours. His sheer desperation was gullible and your body moves on its own as you grind against him. — “Getting your dick wet isn’t enough?” You seethe, fingers twisting in his dark locks and Beomgyu shivers under you, cock twitching at your words. “Need to get fucked dumb until you’re satisfied.” 

He gasps out a shallow ‘yes’ when he feels your throb around him, thighs tensing as his long awaited orgasm approaches. — “Greedy pup”, you moan, teeth closing around his bottom lip as your nails dig into the flesh of his neck. Beomgyu merely whines in agreement as his hips jerk up to meet yours, blabbering complete and utter nonsense as he begs for you to let him cum, telling you over and over that he’d been good. 

“M’was completely still..” He breathes, hands grabbing at your chest, searching for anything to ground himself with. “W-Was good..Wasn’ I?” He wails, big and round eyes searching yours with urgency. — He looked adorable like this, his expression completely dazed and gone, sweaty and shiny, warm and flushed. You couldn’t find it in you to deny him; “Fine, you can cum.” 

The small confirmation made his hips violently buck against yours one last time before his warm release spread inside your clenching cunt. Beomgyu’s lips fervently latch onto yours as he seals you in a messy kiss, saliva seeping from the corner of his mouth as he moans onto your tongue. — You let him have his way, feeling his cock spasm inside you before it softens. And only when he’s fucked his cum back into you throughly, does he withdraw with a small pout. 

When you climb off of him, he nearly whines, and you have to ignore the throb between your legs as you push him down onto the floor between your feet. — Confused, he glances up at you, a question waiting on his lips. “Well go on, clean me up puppy.” 

Beomgyu doesn’t need to hear it twice before his face is nestled between your legs, tongue eagerly lapping against your soaked cunt. Like a good puppy.

kinktober taglist (send an ask to be added) — @sweetpotatogyu @aduh0308 @joieouioui @inkigayocamman @bambammtori @hkplushier @gyusoulz @eliluvsjjunie @velvetmoonlght @izzyy-stuff @hwanghyunjinismybae @lunathewritingcat @ninitorih @run4gyu @beestvng

© all rights reserved ─ @beomiracles 2024

[atlabeth]

dance until we're bones

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem reader

summary: you and hotch both confront a lifetime of things left unsaid when a case forces your past into the light.

a/n: so i started this. two years ago. got 1k in and left it, came back now for some reason, wrote like a freak until it was done. lol. this is quite heavy and different than most things i usually write and it is SO much longer than expected but im very proud of it 🫶 i didn't really pay attention to the canon timeline so just know that reader and hotch were in their early and late 20s in law school (90s) and early and late 30s in present day (early 2000s). title from i lied by lord huron and allison ponthier

wc: 17.2k

warning(s): a lot of angst. typical bau case stuff, murder (familicide), implied/referenced past child abuse, reader and hotch go at it basically the whole time, character death, kidnapping, slight mention of drugging, injuries, mentions of blood. i wouldn’t say a happy ending but a hopeful one

Hotch can barely stay awake. 

He got the call thirty minutes to 4 a.m, and if he hadn’t already been up, he would likely be in a much worse mood. He can only hope that the rest of the team has gotten used to rude awakenings at this point. 

It’s poor planning on his part—he already got out late due to extra paperwork, and once he got home, he found himself staring at the wall, and then staring at the ceiling. If he’s lucky, he’ll get to sleep on the jet. If things go the way they usually do, he won’t be out until their first night in a hotel. 

He started making calls to the team on his way to the office, but to no one’s surprise, he was the first one there. He had time to wash down a shitty office coffee and get started on a second one by the time everyone’s there. 

Morgan, Prentiss, and JJ all have coffees—JJ comes prepared with her own thermos, but Morgan and Prentiss fall victim to the BAU’s supply—Reid is fighting back yawns as he tries to fix a hastily made tie, Garcia is slightly less energetic than normal as she passes out files, and somehow Rossi looks the same as always. 

Hotch just hopes he’s put together enough to make the team feel better about being here at an ungodly hour. 

“Welcome, welcome, welcome,” Garcia greets, setting down the last folder in front of Reid before taking her spot next to Hotch at the front. “As lovely as it is to see all of you this morning, I’m afraid that we’ve got a grisly one on our hands, hence the hour.” 

“Great,” Prentiss mutters. “How bad is it?” 

“Three married couples have been murdered in St. Louis, Missouri in the past two months, with the most recent one happening yesterday,” Hotch says, and Garcia grimaces as she clicks onto the pictures. “Mom and dad are killed, but the children are spared.”

“Awful lot of similarities between the parents,” Morgan says dryly as he flips through the folder. “Looks like our killer has some family issues.” 

Reid nods. “The unsub likely stalks these families once they see the similarities. I’m guessing he was abused as a child, seeing as they kill the parents but keep the children alive.”

“Probably has a grudge against his father,” Prentiss remarks. “They make it out the worst every time.”

“There’s no method to the torture,” Morgan says. “It looks like he’s just trying to make it hurt as much as possible.” 

“Our guy probably isn’t trained in anything, then,” Rossi says. 

Reid flips to another page in the file. “Serial killers like to see their victims suffer. If he’s not torturing the mom physically, then he’s likely making her watch.”

“He doesn’t kill children, though,” JJ notes. 

“Maybe he thinks he’s doing them a favor,” Reid says. 

“The unsub sees himself in the kids?” Morgan suggests. “He’s doing what he didn’t get the chance to do.” 

“Whatever it is, we have to keep a tight hold on this,” JJ says. “The press eats this stuff up, and the last thing we need is a terrified city making it harder to do our jobs.”

“Especially with families being killed,” Morgan murmurs. 

JJ sighs. “I’ll draft something on the jet and make some calls when we land.” 

Hotch nods and he closes his file. “Wheels up in thirty. I hope you’re all ready for a long day.” 

-

The jet is silent the entire way to Missouri, full of sleeping agents trying to delay the inevitable—save for JJ scribbling down notes on a legal pad for the first thirty minutes, but even she knocks out sooner rather than later. Thankfully, Hotch manages to fit an hour in himself, though it doesn’t do very much for him. He spends the rest of the time reading through the case file. 

The team settles in quickly at the city’s precinct, and Hotch takes charge as usual. The uniforms are just as tired as they are, but he makes it work. Soon enough, JJ is off to work with the local liaison to craft a narrative, Reid has situated himself in an empty conference room to get to work analyzing maps with Garcia, and Hotch and the rest go to check out the crime scene. 

It’s brutal—much too brutal for this early, but Hotch forces the emotions out of it and gets to work questioning the present officers. Morgan follows suit, with Prentiss and Rossi going to investigate the rest of the house. 

They don’t learn much from the officers that they don’t already know. This is the most recent crime scene—George and Marsha Springfield, undeserving of such a grisly fate. Their two kids, 8 and 9, were off visiting their grandparents in Nebraska when it happened, and though they avoided the same fate, they’re going to deal with a lifetime of guilt. 

It’s all Hotch can think about as he examines the first body. The six children left to deal with the carnage, about their past and future marred against their control. 

All he can think about is Jack, and the dreary fate that awaits him if his father falls in the field.  

Hotch swallows his doubt and his guilt all in one and forces every thought out of his mind. He has to be unshakable for the team, for what’s left of these families, for a city on the brink of hysterics. 

They’ll find whoever did this. That’s what gets him through it. 

They spent early morning at the crime scene, collecting evidence and gathering information from the officers and trying to make sense of the killer’s motive. Progress is slow, partially because of the hour, but they make enough that Hotch feels comfortable moving onto the next job.

Their four a.m. start time was too early to go knock on doors and get interviews, but now it’s a more normal 10 in the morning. After a quick stop back at the station to share information with Reid, Garcia, and JJ and down a few cups of coffee, they get right back on the road.  

Hotch and Prentiss take one van and Morgan and Rossi take the other, splitting up to get what they can from interviews. It’s difficult working with kids, especially with such recent trauma, so they hold off on it for now, allowing the local uniforms that have been with them for a bit longer to set things up before the BAU tries anything. 

First they go to a neighbor’s house, then an alleged eye witness. They don’t get much other than personality reads, but it at least gives them the beginnings of a profile. The third place they hit is their earliest idea of a suspect. 

“Lucas Hartford,” Prentiss reads off the file one of the local officers had put together. “Thirty-nine, born and raised in St. Charles, Missouri. High school degree, but never got to college because he was in and out of jail.” 

“What has he been charged for?” 

“Booked a few times for public intoxication and convicted three times for assault. Once was for third-degree assault, Missouri’s version of aggravated assault,” she says. “He got out of jail a little less than a year ago, and it looks like he’s been living in St. Louis for some of that.”

“Assault and drinking is a far cry from serial killing, even aggravated,” Hotch says. “What makes him a suspect?”

“Both parents are dead,” she says. “And from the looks of it, it was not a happy home while they were around. He’s got a sister, so it fits the initial theory of trying to replicate his family.”

Hotch lets out a loose breath and nods. “We’ll start there. Try and get a story from this guy, build a profile, see if it matches the one Morgan and Rossi have made for their guy.”

“And hope we pin something down before more bodies show up,” Prentiss murmurs. 

They’re at their destination soon enough, and Hotch parks in an open spot on the other side of the road. His eyes dart around as they walk up to the front door, filing things away in the back of his mind. 

The house number and last name—1432, Hartford—on the mailbox plagued with rotting wood. What there is of a yard is poorly cut, and a small garden of wilted flowers has their own corner, victims of the winter weather. One car is parked slightly crooked in a small driveway—there’s no garage, so at least he’s probably home. Two potted plants sit on either side of the door, thankfully alive. 

“Remember,” Prentiss says as they come to a stop together, “be nice.” 

“I’m plenty nice,” he murmurs, and she huffs the slightest laugh. 

Hotch knocks on the door as Prentiss fishes around for her ID, and thankfully, they don’t wait long. The door cracks open after a few seconds to reveal a woman—certainly not their unsub, but something a whole lot more surprising. 

You.

Your brows furrow at the sight of him, and Hotch has to hold back his shock. 

You don’t live in St. Louis. And your last name certainly isn’t Hartford. 

“Aaron?” you ask in disbelief, and he doesn’t even have to look at Prentiss to know the questions he’s going to get later.

He says your name, able to control his surprise with only the slightest crease of his brows giving it away, then corrects himself just as quickly. “Miss Hartford. My name is SSA Aaron Hotchner, and this is SSA Emily Prentiss. We’re here with the FBI.” 

Your frown deepens as they show their IDs, and you actually take it from Hotch, skeptical eyes scanning over it for much too long. You glance back at him as you hand it back over. “What is the FBI doing here?” 

Emily clears her throat as she puts her credentials away. “We’re here investigating the latest murders in St. Louis. Can we come in?”

“The murders?” you ask with exasperation. “What— what murders? And what do I have to do with them?” 

Aaron notices the way your grip tightens on the door just the slightest bit, and a shred of sympathy strikes him before he speaks up.

“We’ll be able to explain everything if you let us in,” he says. 

You swallow thickly in your throat, your gaze darting back to Aaron before you finally nod. “Okay. Sure. Why not?”

You move and Hotch and Prentiss walk inside, gesturing with a hand towards your living room as you shut and lock the door behind them. “Take a seat. Uh— do you guys need anything? Water, or coffee, or…” 

You trail off, and Prentiss shakes her head. “Thank you, but that’s not needed.” She takes a seat on the sofa, but Hotch can’t stop himself from looking around the house. 

It’s a small place, one story—likely rented, seeing how paintings sit on countertops and mantels rather than hanging on the wall. It has a certain charm to it, but something is off about it all. 

Two styles clash—decorative pillows at odds with a filled and painted-over hole in the wall, an attempt at neutral tones ruined by dark articles of clothing scattered around, one person’s mess barely being held back by another’s cleaning efforts. You lived with someone else. Likely Lucas Hartford, possibly their unsub. 

“Are you gonna sit down, Aaron?” you ask, snapping him out of his profiling haze. “Or do you want to look around some more?” 

“I’m sorry,” he says, clearing his throat as he walks over and sits down in an open chair near Prentiss. “Just curious.” 

“That makes two of us,” you say, and you cross your arms as you look at him. He notices that you don’t sit down yourself, and there’s still a coldness in your eyes. “You’re FBI now?” 

He nods. “I had a change of heart.” 

You huff a laugh. “Thought at least one of us would be a lawyer by now. I guess not.” 

Hotch frowns, but Prentiss takes over before he can continue on that particular thread. “Miss Hartford—”

You interrupt by saying your first name, and it spurns something strange in his chest. It’s been over a decade since he’s heard your voice. “You can skip the formalities.” 

Prentiss nods and repeats your name. “As you know, we’re investigating the murders that have been occuring in the St. Louis area.” 

“And you think I have something to do with it?” you ask, the accusatory edge to your voice not lost on him. 

“Not you,” Hotch says. “Do you know a Lucas Hartford?”

“He’s my brother,” you say, and your frown deepens. “You’re not saying—”

“No,” Prentiss interrupts, “we’re not saying anything. We’re just asking.”

And just like that, your entire stance, your visage, it all changes. Hotch can sense the walls slamming up around you, and he immediately realizes two things: 

Getting information out of you is going to be much harder than planned, and you’re not anywhere near the same person you used to be. 

Hotch doesn’t know what he expects, really. He graduated with the intent to prosecute for at least a decade—now, he’s with the BAU. It’s not fair to assume you’re that same girl he met in law school. 

“My brother is not a murderer,” you state clearly.

“And we aren’t accusing him or you of anything—” she starts. 

“Me?” you interrupt, and you let out a harsh laugh. “I’m a suspect too?”

“If you would allow Agent Prentiss to finish her sentences, you would be less upset,” Hotch says. 

You glower at him, but you stay silent. 

“We aren’t accusing either of you of anything,” Prentiss finishes. “We’re just trying to gather information with what little we know.” 

“I know my rights,” you say, unflinching gaze still meeting Hotch’s. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Prentiss looks at him as well, but his eyes don’t leave yours. “That’s unfortunate to hear, Miss Hartford.”

“You know my name, Aaron. Use it.”

He does, and the letters feel strange on his tongue after so long. “This is a serious matter. This isn’t an accusation—we’re in the early days of this case and we need all the information we can get.” 

“Ask away,” you say. “Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.” 

“Lucas Hartford,” Prentiss starts. “He’s your brother?” 

You nod. “He lives with me.” 

He lives with me, not we live together. Makes him think that you pay for the place, he came knocking, and you didn’t have the heart to turn him away. 

“Why is that?” Hotch asks. 

You look at him, those scrutinizing eyes attempting to peer into his soul the same way they did all those years ago. But Hotch has changed since law school, and he’s much better at guarding his emotions. It seems you are, too. 

“He’s a student,” you finally say. “He goes to community college. I’m giving him a place to live while he gets his associate’s.”  

“Community college and living with his younger sister at 39?” Prentiss is trying to get information out of you, even if it isn’t in the kindest way. Your jaw clenches, and he knows her words have some effect. You’ve probably heard it more than once, the way things are going. 

“He’s getting his life back on track,” you say defensively. “I’m the only one left that can help him, so I am.” 

“What about your parents?” she asks. “Surely they’re a better option than this.” 

“Both dead,” you answer. “And no one else cares enough to help him. Are you here to do anything other than dig up my past?” 

Hotch feels Prentiss’s eyes on him, likely because it’s a step in the right direction for a really shitty reason, but he can’t look away from you. 

“Really?” 

He knows your parents are dead—it was in your brother’s profile, and by extension it applies to you—but it still hits him. 

He met your mother, had countless lunches and dinners with her. Helped her move out of her old house. Spent two Thanksgivings and a Christmas with her. 

And he didn’t even know when she died. 

You shrug and wrap your arms around yourself, and for the first time you look something other than defensive or standoffish. You look— well… sad. 

“Mom went a few years after you graduated,” you say, looking at Hotch. “Dad went last year.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Prentiss says. 

You nod your thanks, the notion a bit numb. 

“You never told me,” Hotch says with a slight frown.

“We haven’t talked in ten years,” you say. “Sorry that I didn’t know you still wanted updates.” 

Hotch tries to think of something to say in response, but Prentiss starts getting a call and she stands up. “Excuse me.” 

His jaw clenches for a moment as Prentiss ducks into a nearby bedroom, but he’s recovered by the time you look at him again. Your arms are crossed, but your expression is even. 

“I take it this was as much of a surprise for you as it is for me.” 

Hotch nods. “We came here looking for your brother.” 

“Does your team know about our history?” you ask simply.

“No.” 

“Do you want them to?” 

“…No.” 

You huff a laugh, your eyes narrowing a bit. “‘Course not. Probably counts as conflict of interest.” 

You wait another beat, then ask another question. “How’s Haley?”

“Good, last I heard,” he says, and then he hesitates. “We’re… divorced.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

He nods. “This job isn’t easy for anyone.”

You look like you want to say more, but once again, Hotch is saved by Prentiss as she walks back in. Her phone is closed in her hand and she looks at him. “Morgan and Rossi have a lead. The chief wants everyone back at the precinct to go over everything we’ve found.” 

Hotch nods again and stands up. Prentiss takes her card out of her pocket and holds it out to you. 

“Thank you for your time, Miss Hartford. If you find out any information, or want to tell us anything else, please give me a call.” 

“Pass that along to your brother, too,” Hotch says. 

You reluctantly take the card, but you don’t look at it. “You can see yourselves out.” 

Prentiss nods. “Thank you again. Have a good day, and stay safe.” 

She leads the way, and Hotch follows after her. He fights the urge to look back before he shuts the door. 

Prentiss looks at him as they walk back to the car, and he can only imagine what is going through her mind. But eventually she just shrugs and pulls out her phone again. 

“Garcia?” Prentiss asks after she picks up. 

“You’ve reached the office of all that is holy.” Penelope’s voice comes out through the speaker, and Hotch can’t help the smallest twitch of his lips. “What’s up?” 

“Dig up everything you can find on Lucas Hartford,” Emily says, and her glance at Hotch does not go unnoticed. “And throw in his sister, too. He’s one of our only suspects, and we need to know if she’s in on it.” 

“On it,” Garcia says. “I’ll call you back when I’m done.” 

“You’re the best,” she says, and then she hangs up. They get back to the car, and it only takes Prentiss all of five seconds after they get in for her to start drilling him.

“Alright,” she says, buckling her seatbelt with a click before she sets her attention on him. “What was that back there? You two know each other?”

Hotch busies himself with his own seatbelt and starting the car, answering as casually as possible as the engine revs to life. “We were friends in law school.”

“Sure,” Prentiss nods. “The way you were around her, that’s not just ‘law school friend’ stuff.”

Hotch is once again reminded of how, sometimes, it was a downfall to constantly be around profilers. It was nearly impossible to keep anything a secret. 

“It’s nothing,” he says as he pulls back onto the road. “We knew each other, we fell apart, we’re here now.”

Emily hums. “Is it too far to ask if you were together?”

“Yes,” he says sternly, maybe a bit too hasty. “It is.”

“Fine,” she says breezily, and she looks out the window. “But that tension was thick.” 

Hotch knows what she’s thinking. Hasn’t he been with Haley since high school, what kind of history did you and him have, were you together, would he be okay to work this case— 

He doesn’t really want to answer any of them. You were a part of his past he hadn’t expected to resurface any time soon—if Hotch is being honest, he didn’t know if he would ever see you again once he graduated. Not after the way he broke things off.  

You’ve changed a lot. So has he. 

And now your brother is a murder suspect, and you could be covering up for him. 

That’s the only thing that should be on his mind. 

-

“For the last time,” you huff as you storm down the stairs, “I don’t want to deal with this.” 

“Because you know that Mia is a lying bitch!” Cleo exclaims, following after you. “I’m sick of you stealing my clothes!”

“I’m not stealing your clothes,” Mia scoffs in your wake, just behind Cleo. “They’re too ugly for me to want anyways. I bet I wouldn’t even fit into them.”

“You are! And you’re stealing my fucking jewelry, too!” she yells. “All of my shit is going missing, and I know it’s not Little Miss Law School, so it’s got to be you!” 

Mia draws out a mirthless laugh. “You are not accusing me of this.” 

“I don’t have anyone else to accuse!” Cleo shouts. 

They both look at you, and Mia says your name. “You have to settle this before I kill her.”

“Oh, I’ll kill you first!” she hisses. “At least I’ll get all my stuff back!”

You clench your jaw as your nails dig into your palms, and you’re about to bite back when the doorbell rings. You don’t even try to hide your sigh of relief. 

“That’s Aaron,” you say as you grab your coat and your bag from the table. “I’m leaving. If you kill each other, don’t get blood on the furniture.”

You don’t give them a chance to say anything before you rush to the door, open it, and shut it behind you. 

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” you breathe. 

“What’s going on in there?” Aaron asks, amused. 

“My roommates are fighting again.” You roll your eyes. “It doesn’t matter. You’re much more interesting.”

“You know this is a study date,” he says wryly, and you cut him off with a kiss. 

“Still a date,” you murmur against his lips. “And something seriously needed.”

Aaron chuckles as he wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his side, and the two of you walk to his car. “You’ve gotta get out of this house, honey.”

“I know,” you grumble. “But I can’t afford a place on my own.”

“Doesn’t have to be on your own,” he says as he opens the door for you. “It just has to be away from the girls that are making you miserable.”

“The lease ends at the end of the semester,” you sigh. “Just have to make it until then.”

“You know,” Aaron boxes you in against the car when you lean against the side of it, smiling softly at you, “I do live alone.”

“Oh yeah?” You ruffle his hair with your fingers and grin. “What are you proposing?”

He shrugs, letting his hands linger on your waist. “Just that you hate your roommates, and you don’t hate me. You could spend your time somewhere else.” 

“Careful,” you warn. “You keep saying things like that and we might not make it to the library.” 

“You keep saying things like that, and I might not mind,” Aaron muses. 

You grin as he leans in and kisses you again, once, twice, three times as your back hits the side of his car and you card your hands through his hair. Mia and Cleo are probably killing each other inside, but you don’t really care at this point. They’ve made your life hell for a semester and a half—they can bother each other for once. 

“Aaron,” you whisper against his lips, and he gets one more in between words, “I’ve got a test on Tuesday.”

“And today’s Sunday.” He nips at your neck and you laugh, your eyes falling shut as you lean your head back. “You’ll be fine, honey.”

“You have one on Monday,” you remind him, and he sighs. You feel his hot breath against your neck. 

“Ruining our fun in the name of schoolwork,” he says. “No wonder all your professors love you.”

“Everyone loves me,” you correct. “Including you.”

You steal one more kiss before you open your door yourself and get in, and Aaron lets out a breathy laugh.

“You’ve got that right.”

He closes your door then gets in the other side, and you’re already rifling through the glove box full of cassettes. You pull out the mixtape you made for him for your six month anniversary and pop it into the player, and Aaron smiles as the first few notes of Stairway to Heaven come on. 

“You’re a threat to my grades, y’know.”

“Maybe it’s all part of my plan,” you say. “Distract you with kisses to make sure I’m a shoe-in for this fellowship.”

“A dastardly plan,” he says with mock austerity. 

“I’ve been told I have to be more of a shark,” you muse. “Consider this me taking down my competition.”

Aaron laughs, and you find yourself smiling just at the sound of it. You love the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, how they soften just so, how he acts like himself around you, and not some perfected or stoic image that he thinks he needs. 

Falling in love with Aaron Hotchner has been the easiest thing in the world. 

“Don’t let anyone know,” he says, and he reaches over to intertwine your fingers together. “But I’ll happily fall to you every time.”

“As long as you don’t tell everyone how whipped I am for you,” you tease.

“Looks like we’ve both got reputations to keep up.”

“Looks like it.”

You share a smile, yours just on the edge of a grin as you try to bite it back. You hold hands the rest of the way, just soaking in each other’s presence with songs from bands you introduced to each other floating through the air. 

(It is a goddamn struggle to get any work done at the library with that face across from you the whole time.)

- 

You had sky-high aspirations when you were younger. 

Ones that would make your teachers offer a smile and tell you to shoot a little lower, that would make your friends’ eyes widen, that your father would scoff at and your mother would humor you on just to get you to move past it. 

You didn’t listen. You’ve wanted to be a lawyer since you went on a class field trip to a courthouse in elementary school and saw all the attorneys hustling about, dressed to the nines, making last-minute deals outside the courtroom.  

They were just… so confident. So smart, so stoic, always knowing the answer to everything. The good ones had money, sure, but more importantly they had the power to change lives for the better. And as a kid that had to cover up bruises before the school day, nothing sounded more appealing. 

All you’ve ever wanted to do is help people. 

And as you sit in a cold, empty interrogation room, you can’t help but wonder where the hell you went wrong. 

You don’t want to be here, obviously. But you know the FBI won’t stop bugging you until you give them answers—you know Aaron Hotchner won’t stop bugging you. 

Because god— what are the odds? 

What are the fucking odds of your ex-boyfriend from a decade ago showing up at your door with a badge and an attempted case against your brother? 

It’s ridiculous, and it’s such bad luck that you think it could only happen to you. You’ve thought about Aaron Hotchner more than you’d like to admit over the years, especially when you found your old GW crewnecks, and the box of school supplies you used for a decade, and those photo albums from what should’ve been your golden years. 

It’s not like any of it matters, though. You only agreed to come in and talk because you want them off your back and you don’t want them poking around your house. You saw it in Aaron’s eyes—he was profiling you and your place the entire time. 

If the cops want to invade your privacy even further, they can get a goddamn warrant. 

Your thoughts are interrupted when the door opens, and you hold back a mirthless laugh, because of course it’s Aaron. He greets you with your name, and he has a file in his hands. You wonder if it’s on you or your brother. “Thank you for taking the time out of your day to come in and talk with us.”

“Well, you seem to think my brother is a murderer.” You cross your arms as you sit back. “I’m not really gonna let that stand.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked for a lawyer,” he says as he sits down across from you. 

“I don’t plan to be here for very long,” you respond tartly. “But don’t worry—that can always change. I know my rights.” 

“I’m the last person you need to tell that to.” Hotch sets the file down and looks right at you. Though he’s obviously older—more grizzled, more hardened; harsher, sharper lines that define his face; lips set in a taut, unflinching line—you still see that young man from law school. The passion, the care he puts into everything, the penchant for striped ties. 

You wonder what he sees when he looks at you. 

“Your last name wasn’t Hartford when I met you,” he says. “Why is it now?” 

“Not one for small talk,” you remark. 

“I never have been.” 

“I remember.” You hold his gaze. “It’s my mom’s maiden name. I changed it to put some distance between me and everything else.” 

You can practically see the gears of his brain working, neural pathways branching off with every word you say to make sense of it and reason a thousand different meanings from it. Aaron’s always been like that, but it’s tenfold now. 

You suppose one has to be like that, to try and get anywhere with the types of criminals they face. 

“How long have you been living in St. Louis?”

“Seven years. I’ve had that house for three.” 

“Rent or own?”

“Rent,” you scoff. “I don’t make enough for a down payment, and I don’t want a place tying me down.”

“What inspired the move?”

“Close enough to home to be familiar, far enough to not be.” 

“And home is?” 

“St. Charles,” you say, and you purse your lips. “Shouldn’t you already know all this?” You nod at the file in front of him. “It’s either on me or my brother, and we share a lot of the same info.” 

“We prefer to get our information from the source,” he says. 

“Sources can lie.” 

Aaron doesn’t waver. “And we can charge you with obstruction if it harms our investigation.” 

Your lips twitch for a moment, not entirely without heart. “Ask your questions, Aaron.” 

He opens the folder and slides the first picture over to you—your brother’s first mugshot, taken when he was only twenty-one. You still remember riding your bike to the station in the sweltering August heat to drop off his bail and pick him up. 

You had to catch the bus home together, you had to pay his fare, and his bail drained everything you’d been saving from your waitress job. But your dad refused to pay it, and you refused to be alone in that house any longer than you already had. 

You swallow the memory. It still tastes as sour as the day it happened. 

“Lucas Hartford is our main suspect,” he says. “He matches our initial profile—in and out of jail since his twenties, his parents are dead and he has an unstable home life, and he’s got a sister.”   

“None of those sound like questions,” you say. 

“Where is your brother?” he asks firmly. He’s given you a bit of leniency, but you can tell he’s getting tired of you. Some things never change, you think to yourself bitterly. 

“I don’t know,” you admit. 

“You don’t know,” he repeats. 

“I let him stay with me, and my only requirement is that he goes to his community college classes and stays out of jail,” you say. “He’s done both, so I stay out of his business.”

“And you’re telling me you haven’t questioned it?”

“I called him the other day after you left,” you say. “He didn’t pick up, and I didn’t get a call back until the next night.” 

Aaron’s eyes sharpen. “What did you say to him?” 

“I called to see where he was,” you say evenly. “I think you all are wrong, but I wanted to make sure he was okay.” 

“You didn’t tell him—” 

“No,” you interrupt, “I didn’t tell him about your investigation. If I think you’re wrong, why would I need to let him know?” 

He still has that look in his eyes, and you know you’re getting on his nerves with the constant interrupting, the constant backtalk. But he probably deals with much, much worse. 

“Good,” he nods. “You could be putting lives in danger if you do—including yours.” 

“Please,” you scoff. “He won’t hurt me. He never has.” 

“Why do you let him stay with you?” Aaron asks. “You’re straight-edge, he’s a borderline alcoholic that’s been in and out of jail for years. You’ve got a law degree, he never made it past high school. You’ve got your life together, his is falling apart.” 

“That’s why I do it,” you say. “Our parents are dead. I’m all he has left, and he’s all I have left. I want him to get better, so I’m trying my best to help him get there. How can Luke put his life back together if he’s got no support?” 

“That’s an awful lot of faith to put in someone who hasn’t earned it.” 

“I’ve gotten good at that over the years,” you reply. 

Aaron stares at you, and you stare back. You let the moment linger. You hope it stings, even fleetingly. 

“And you’re wrong, by the way.” 

“About what?” he asks. Again, unshaken. 

“I don’t have a law degree,” you say. “I dropped out.” 

And for some reason, that is what gets him. He frowns, and you wonder what it means that this is the most unexpected thing he’s gotten out of you. 

“Why? You were only a year out. You had stellar grades.” 

“My mom got cancer,” you say. “Luke was serving his second stint, Dad fucked off to some corner of the country to drink himself to death a couple months before. I was the only one left to take care of her, and I couldn’t do that from DC.” 

“I had no idea.” This is the first time he looks taken aback since you’ve met him again. “And she’s—”

“Dead,” you supply without waiting for an answer. You know he already knows it, but it still seems to have some effect on him. “Went a couple months after I was meant to graduate.” 

“…I’m sorry for your loss,” he says. He’s just repeating what his agent said at your house, but it feels genuine, at least. 

“It’s been a decade,” you say. “I’m just sorry it was her instead of my dad.” 

Aaron’s brows knit together again, and less work goes into covering it up this time. “You seem to have something against your father.” 

You huff a mirthless laugh. “Excellent profiling.” 

“Child abuse is common for serial killers,” Aaron says. “We find it’s typically the root of their problems later in life, or plays a part in their MO.” 

You stare at him again. This isn’t just an interrogation with Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner—it’s revealing parts of your past that you never told your ex-boyfriend Aaron. 

“Yeah,” you finally say. “Our dad beat us. Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

“You know th—” 

Aaron cuts himself off before he can finish whatever he wants to say, and he lets out a short sigh with a nod. “It’s valuable information for the profile.” 

The room feels a lot colder all of a sudden. “Sure.” 

He still looks like he wants to say more, but he bites his tongue as he takes the picture back and closes the file. 

“I’ll be back,” he says. “Would you like anything? Water?”

You shake your head and remain silent. He takes the folder and stands up, and you watch him the entire way to the door. Just before he can open it, you find words escaping without you thinking. 

“Look, Aaron,” you blurt out. He pauses, and he turns to look at you. “I know this is your thing, and this is your investigation, but I’m telling you—my brother and I don’t play any part in it.” 

“The profile—” 

“I don’t care what your profile says,” you interrupt. “He didn’t do it. He couldn’t have done it.” 

“He’s rough around the edges, I know. In and out of jail isn’t good for anyone.” You hold onto the edge of the table as you continue rambling, needing something to do with your hands. “But he’s working to get better, and he is not the kind of person to do something like this. If you believe anything I say, believe that.” 

“I suppose we’ll find out,” he says evenly. 

He leaves the room, and your hands fall into your lap as your nails dig into your palms. You don’t mean to be desperate, but you feel it. You’ve been defending Lucas at every chance, but you’re terrified of being wrong. You’re terrified that Aaron might be right—that he might be behind all of this. 

For his sake—and your sake, honestly, because you think you deserve to be selfish when he’s all you have left—you hope you’re right. 

You have to be right. 

The room feels even colder. 

Your stare drifts to the one-way mirror, where you know his team is watching. You saw the way Agent Prentiss watched Aaron when they came to your house—he said he doesn’t want them to know, but you think they already do. 

You wonder the kind of things they’ve come up with about you and him. 

-

Morgan whistles when Hotch walks out of the interrogation room. 

“She does not like you.” 

“Did you gather anything else?” he asks placidly. He sets your brother’s file down so he can fix his tie. 

“Abusive dad, dead parents, criminal background,” he says. “Lucas is looking like a stronger suspect. Oh— and she really doesn’t like you.” 

“If you don’t want to go back to building a file on your suspect, move on,” Hotch demands. 

Morgan shrugs, clearly unfazed, but he keeps his mouth shut. Reid, meanwhile, is still staring through the glass at you. You haven’t exactly relaxed, but you’re not as tense as you were while talking to Hotch. You pick at a loose strand of thread on your sweater, and when you pull it out, you let it fall to the floor. 

“Her brother feels like a prime suspect,” Reid murmurs. “I feel like I could just figure it all out if I could talk to him.” 

“I told Penelope to keep an eye on him,” Prentiss contributes. “She’s tracking his cards, the car registered in his name, even called the person in charge of the AA meetings he goes to to keep an eye out—everything. We’ll know if she gets anything.”

“Serial killers want to see the damage they’ve done,” Reid says. “Things are falling apart here—the whole city is terrified. He’s gotta be in St. Louis still.” 

“You’re sure that he’s still in the running.” Hotch glances back at you, and he knows he has to at least ask, for your sake. He doesn’t want to put you through anything more than he has to—not after what you’ve told him. 

And Hotch knows your past is your business—he just can’t believe you never told him. 

He’s turned over your relationship in his head just as many times in these past few days as he did the months after he ended things. 

“I’m sure, sir,” Reid says. “I’ve read over both their files, and Lucas matches with our preliminary profile. His stressor could have been his father dying.”

Morgan frowns. “Explain.”

“Family annihilators typically go after their own family for a myriad of reasons,” he says. “Paranoia, to cover up their lies, to free themselves from what they see as oppression, sometimes just pure jealousy.”

“He’s killing the parents but leaving the children alive,” Hotch says. “Sounds like a liberator to me.”

“That’s what I think,” Reid nods. “If Lucas has been banking on killing his father for that attempt at freedom, and then lost the chance?” He shrugs. “That could be why he started going for other families.” 

“Other fathers to take his place,” Morgan realizes, and he nods again. 

“You should talk to her, Spence,” Prentiss says. “You’ve got a handle on the profile, and you’re pretty good at conveying info. She seems like a reasonable person—just can’t accept her brother doing something like this.” 

“It’s typical for someone to deny their family member’s involvement,” Reid says. “No one wants to think their sibling is a murderer.” 

“If you lay it all out for her like that, with facts and the profile, I think she’ll listen.” Prentiss looks at Hotch. “She’s too closed off with you.”

“That’s how she is,” Hotch claims.

“Maybe,” she shrugs, “but it’s much easier to hate you than it is to hate Reid.” 

Hotch glares at her, and Reid clears his throat to insert himself back into the conversation. 

“I’d be happy to talk to her,” he says. “I know what it’s like to be in this kind of position—I can put her at ease, sympathize with her.” 

They all look at Hotch, and he wants to say no. He wants to be the one to get this out of you—some part of him wants as much time with you as possible. But he decides to swallow his ego. 

“Fine.” He nods, and he hands the folder to Reid. “I trust you to handle it.” 

Reid nods too, far too many times, and he takes the file. “Thank you. Uh— sir. I appreciate your trust.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, but it has no bite to it, and Reid walks inside. 

He says your name and sits down across from you. “I’m Spencer Reid. I know we’ve already said it, but thank you for talking to us. It may not seem like it, but it goes a long way towards figuring out this case.”

You nod. You already seem more at ease than you were with him, and it makes Hotch… 

Not jealous, because that would be insane. But it makes him upset that he doesn’t understand you the way he used to—that he doesn’t hold that key to you anymore. God, it feels like he doesn’t know you anymore. 

Hotch doesn’t get why a side of his brain still thinks this way about you. 

“They sent a new one in,” you say. 

“You looked like you needed a break from Hotch,” Reid says. “Don’t worry. We all do sometimes.”

You huff a slight laugh and your posture eases, your expression softens just so. Reid was right, as usual. 

“I can imagine.”

He starts talking to you about the case, laying out all the facts, and though you don’t look happy, you don’t cut him off like you cut Hotch off. 

“She’s pretty,” Morgan offers, glancing at Hotch. “And stubborn. I see why you like her.” 

“Shut up, Morgan,” Hotch mutters.

He chuckles and holds his hands up, and focuses back on the interrogation. 

The rest of it passes in silence, save for the occasional input from Prentiss or Morgan to elaborate on a point. You talk much more with Reid than you did with Hotch, and you don’t stare daggers at him the entire time. 

Time doesn’t always heal all wounds, he thinks. 

When Reid is finishing up inside with you, Morgan glances back at Hotch. “You think she’s part of this?”

He shakes his head. “No. She has no reason to kill, nothing to gain. She talks about her past too plainly—it hurt her, obviously, but it hasn’t taken over her life.”

“What about her brother?” Prentiss asks. 

“The more we learn, the more I suspect him,” Morgan says. 

She nods in agreement. “We just have to find him.”

Hotch isn’t sure yet. 

But for your sake, he hopes his gut feeling is wrong. 

-

Spring has finally sprung in DC, and you couldn’t be happier. 

It’s hard to feel down on your walks to class when the birds are singing and the sun is beaming down on you, when you see students sitting on blankets reading and talking and actually enjoying life for once. 

You’re two years into law school, and it feels like you’ve spent 90% of your time studying in either the library or your room. A bit of a sad existence, but it’s made better with Aaron. 

You’re laying down on a blanket—one you crocheted yourself in undergrad—resting your head on Aaron’s chest as he reads a book, the spring sun shining down on you. It feels like the first moment of relaxation either of you have had since classes started, and you chose to spend it together in the University Yard. 

You should probably be studying or doing some kind of homework, but you don’t care. It has been too damn long since you’ve gotten to just sit around and exist with Aaron, and you’ve got at least a couple days until your next quiz. That’s far enough away for you. 

It’s been a rough semester for both of you, between classes and endless homework, between your internship and your endless family issues—Luke is two years in, and his parole was denied, and your dad still insists on being the reason you stay on campus year-round. 

You don’t think you’re pushing it when you say Aaron’s support has been the only reason you’ve gotten through it, your grades—and your mental state—relatively unscathed. 

Aaron says your name, and you hum. 

“Are you listening?” he asks. 

“Of course,” you say. 

“Your eyes are closed.” 

“I don’t need my eyes to listen,” you say wryly. “What’s up?” 

You feel him tense for a moment, feel him adjust his position slightly. 

“I got a call from Haley,” he says carefully. 

Your eyes open and you frown. 

You know the name, but only in the way that you talked a bit about your past relationships while you were still getting to know each other. She was his high school girlfriend, and it was a big deal then, but they broke up before college because they both wanted different things.

It shouldn’t be a big deal now. But he’s treating it like one, and that makes you hesitate. 

“Yeah? What’d she want?”

“…She’s in DC for the weekend,” he says. “Some conference for school. She asked if we could grab a coffee or something and catch up.”

You finally sit up, his hands falling from where he’d been playing with your hair, and you look at him.

“Your high school girlfriend wants to catch up.”

“An old friend wants to catch up,” he corrects. “I haven’t really talked to her since we graduated high school.” 

“…Okay,” you say slowly. “Do you want to see her?” 

He shrugs. “I thought it would be nice.”

“Do you think she thinks it’ll be more than nice?” you ask. 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t even know how she got my landline. I think my mom might have given it to her.” 

Your eyebrows rise. “Your mom gave your ex-girlfriend your number?” 

“It’s the only way I can think of her getting it,” Aaron shrugs. “Like I said, I haven’t talked to her since graduation.” 

You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to think as you look at Aaron. 

You’ve met his mom a dozen times. You’re insistent that she doesn’t like you, despite Aaron’s assertions towards the opposite—it wouldn’t surprise you if she gave this girl his new number in an effort to push him in a new direction. 

But that train of thought feels a little crazy. You’re confident in your relationship with Aaron—you love him, and he loves you. God, he made an off-handed comment about marriage the other day. You’re not threatened by a girl from his past wanting to catch up. 

“Go for it,” you finally say. 

He frowns, like he was expecting the worst. “Really?” 

“I trust you, Aaron,” you say. “You say she’s just a friend, I believe it.” 

You lean forward to kiss him, your eyes fluttering shut, and it lasts much longer than it should. When you pull away, Aaron’s smiling softly at you. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

“‘Course,” you say, tipping a shoulder. “I’m known to be rational from time to time.” 

He chuckles, and you smile as you lay back down on his chest. Soon after, you feel the weight of his hand on your shoulder. 

“I love you,” he says. It feels more like a reminder than anything. 

You entangle your fingers together and press a kiss to the back of his hand. 

Sometimes you need reminders. 

“I love you too.” 

-

“Four more bodies,” Prentiss mutters. “God.” 

“You can say that again,” Morgan murmurs. 

Hotch is silent as he examines the father’s body. They’ve been so busy the past few days trying to nail down the profile, both on their unsub and geographically, that this happening again hadn’t been at the top of their list. There was a month between the first two, and two weeks between the second and third. 

No one expected this to happen so soon. 

The entire family was killed this time, and once again, the parents look similar to the other victims. It’s the work of their unsub, no doubt. 

Hotch and the team had already been at the precinct for an hour going over all the information they’d found when they got the call at 8 in the morning, the bodies discovered by the family’s maid when she arrived for work. 

An entire family, parents and children, senselessly slaughtered for one man’s deranged quest for liberation. 

Hotch has been in this business for a long time, seen things that most people only imagine in nightmares, and he still has to take a step back when children are involved. 

He sees Jack in every single one. He can’t help it. 

Hotch took Prentiss and Morgan with him to the crime scene—JJ has a kid, Rossi had a kid, and he just didn’t want Reid to see it. They’ll all be more valuable working together back there anyways, and it’s imperative that JJ controls the narrative before this can break to the press. 

Again, Prentiss talks to the officers at the scene and Morgan helps him examine the bodies. After all, there are double the amount. 

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Morgan says as he stands back up. “Our guy is killing surrogate parents to get back at his own, fine. Dad was tortured again, mom was killed with a bullet. But bringing the kids into it isn’t his thing.” 

He uses a gloved hand to gingerly lift the father’s arm away from his body so he can examine the underarm. “Look at this. He’s been stabbed at least ten times, and his arm’s nearly severed from his body.”

“And his neck,” Morgan mutters. “He’s half decapitated.” 

Hotch sets the arm back down. “The unsub always wants the father to suffer, but this is a new level.” He looks up at Morgan. “I don’t think he has a reason for killing the children. I think he’s getting sloppy—he’s getting overwhelmed by his anger.” 

“You think he’s devolving,” he says, catching on. 

“Something tells me we’re coming to the end of the line,” Hotch says. “Whatever he does next, he’s going out with a bang.” 

-

The mood in the precinct has fallen dramatically since the last hit. The uniforms aren’t happy that they’re working around the clock, the chief isn’t happy that the BAU hasn’t figured everything out yet, and the city isn’t happy that ten murders have been committed with what they think is no end in sight. 

JJ and Rossi have gone out to bring in the suspect that he and Morgan found together for the sake of covering their bases—they still haven’t been able to find Lucas, despite Reid calling you every day to check in and upping police presence around the city. 

The rest of the team sits around a conference table, over a dozen coffees between them, going over everything and racking their brains for information. 

“This just isn’t matching up,” Reid complains. “Lucas has just been at home for the first two, but for the third and the fourth he’s got alibis.” 

“What are they?” Hotch asks. 

“He was on the road all night when the third happened,” Reid says. 

“And how do we know?” Prentiss asks. 

“Garcia picked up his debit card being used a couple times from Des Moines back to St. Louis when the third set of murders happened,” Morgan contributes. “Must’ve been a road trip, because there are stops at a gas station, a restaurant, and a rest stop.” 

“The last one happened during an AA meeting he was supposed to attend,” Prentiss says. “I called the leader and she said he was there.”

“Do we have footage from any of those places?” Hotch asks. “We need to make sure.” 

Reid nods. “I asked her to check it all this morning, including the AA meeting. She must still be going through it—I can’t imagine it’s easy to get all that access.” 

“What about a second unsub?” Morgan suggests. 

Hotch shakes his head. “These are all meant to be personal for liberation—catharsis. Involving someone else would take away from the feeling.” 

“What about your suspect?” Prentiss asks, looking at Morgan. “Could he be the unsub?” 

“Patrick Fenton,” Morgan says, and he shrugs. “He fits it—dead parents, jail time, child of abuse. But he’s got two sisters, and his parents died when he was in his twenties from a car accident. I don’t see why he would start killing almost twenty years later.” 

“Maybe we’ll figure something out in questioning,” Reid says hopefully. 

Morgan’s phone suddenly goes off, and he hits the button to answer. “You’re on speaker, babygirl.” 

“I found the security footage from those three places, the ones that Lucas was at on his supposed road trip when the third family was hit,” Garcia says, voice slightly tinny through the phone.  

“And?” Hotch asks. 

“I was getting there,” she says. “Lucas wasn’t there. He wasn’t on any of the footage—his sister was.” 

Hotch frowns. You? 

“You’re sure?” he asks. 

“I’m always sure,” Garcia responds. “And I don’t know if Spencer is there, but he also wasn’t there at the AA meeting—I combed through the whole meeting, and he didn’t show up at any point. Just another guy that looked like him.” 

“And you’re sure about that, too?” Hotch asks again. 

“What is with this questioning of my abilities?” she asks, offended. “Yes. I’ve stared at so many pictures of Lucas Hartford over these past few days that I’ve got him burned into my brain.” 

“Thanks, babygirl,” Morgan says. “We’ll call back if we need anything.” 

“And you’re always welcome in this house of miracles,” she muses. Morgan chuckles before he hangs up. 

“Lucas gave her his card,” Reid realizes. “It’s an easy alibi, but it falls apart when you look into it even a little bit.” 

“Probably seemed solid to him at the time,” Morgan says. “He doesn’t seem like a detail oriented guy.” 

Prentiss frowns. “That means he’s back on the chopping block. We can put him at the scene of every murder.” 

Hotch leans over the table and grabs Lucas’s file, and he pulls out the page compiling his family. “His father died a year ago from liver failure. Hartford got out of jail nine months ago after a six year stint.” 

“If he’s been plotting some elaborate murder of his father for years, just to get out of jail and find out he drank himself to death?” Morgan shakes his head. “He’d snap. It doesn’t feel like justice.” 

“He thinks he’s saving the kids of these parents that he kills,” Reid says. “He sees himself in them—he can’t look past his own childhood, and he assumes those kids must want their parents dead too.” 

“He’s trying to get back at his dad,” Prentiss says. “We know that.” 

“But that’s not his main goal,” Reid insists. “If his dad died when he was a kid, the abuse would have stopped. His mom wouldn’t be the battered wife anymore, and he wouldn’t be the battered kid.” 

“His goal has always been protection,” Hotch realizes. “Yes, he’s getting his revenge by killing his father over and over, but ultimately, he’s trying to save himself.” 

“But he didn’t anticipate the kids being home this time,” Prentiss says. “He had to kill them too.” 

“If he‘s seeing himself in these children, recreating what he never got to do, then that means that he effectively died in this scenario,” Reid says. 

“He didn’t get what he wanted,” Morgan says. “That’s gonna take a toll on him.”

“He’s coming to the end of the line,” Prentiss nods. 

Hotch’s brain is working overtime as they work information off of each other. They’re so damn close—they just need the last piece of the puzzle. If they find Lucas’s next victim, they find him. 

“His next crime will probably be his last before he goes out himself,” Reid says. 

“You think it’ll be a murder-suicide?” Morgan asks. 

“It’s common with family annihilators,” Reid says. “Hell, it’s common with anyone who sees no future beyond their murders. It’s their way out.” 

And then the answer hits Hotch like a ton of bricks. Reid is still rambling next to him. 

“If his dad was still alive, I’d say he would be the target. But the only one left—”

“—is his sister,” Hotch grits out, and he’s dashing out of the conference room before anyone can stop him. 

“Hotch!” Morgan yells, and he turns to Prentiss with wild eyes. “Where the hell is he going?” 

“The last victim,” she says as she starts following him. “The one person he never managed to save.” 

“Goddammit,” Morgan curses, and he grabs his phone from the table, dialing Garcia as fast as she can while he runs. Reid is close behind him.  

“What’s up, sugar?” she asks. “Got anymore leads?” 

He laughs dryly. “We’ve got a big one, babygirl. Lucas has finally reached the end of the road — he’s going for his sister. I need you to call JJ and Rossi and—” 

“Send them the Hartford address and fill them in on everything?” she interrupted, and he could hear her fingers flying across the keyboard. “Already on it.” 

“What would I do without you?” he asks. 

“Be half the man and twice as sad,” she says. “I’ve got to call JJ. Be safe, my love.” 

“Always,” he responds, and he hangs up. 

Hotch distantly registers Prentiss stopping by the chief to alert him of what’s going on, because he’s in the fog of a rampage. He’s in the driver’s seat before he knows it, starting the car, and he sees Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid running out after him. 

Prentiss takes shotgun and Morgan and Reid file into the back, and they’ve all got Kevlar vests in their hands. He didn’t really think of that through his haze. 

“We’ve got an extra one for you,” Reid says, reading his mind. 

“Thank you. I— I know what you’re all thinking—” Hotch starts, but Prentiss shakes her head.

“Just drive.” Her lips set themselves in a taut line. “We’ve got a murder to stop.”  

And he does. 

-

You sit on the curb, surrounded on either side by a box of your things. Packing up everything made you realize how little you had at his place. You thought you’d integrated yourself into his life fully, but it really just took an afternoon while he was in a lecture to disappear. 

Summer has fully turned to winter, and you’re as morose as the weather. This side of town looks so depressing without the warmer months to pick it up—the sidewalks are lined with dead trees, the grass is shriveled up and yellowing, and you feel like you’re living in grayscale. 

A shiver runs through you, the weather only partly to blame. 

Amy is supposed to pick you up, but as usual, she’s running late. You don’t know if it’s a personal issue or DC traffic has just struck again, but it doesn’t really matter. Either way, you’re stuck here, and your bad luck seems intent on making it worse, because you watch a familiar car pull around the corner. 

It parks a distance away—there’s no space in front of the complex, and he always complained that they didn’t do assigned spots—and you have to hold back a scornful scoff. 

Of course you have to deal with this now. 

Aaron picks up his pace when he gets out of the car, surprise—and what you think is shame—painted on his face. He says your name when he slows down. 

“You’re already packed.” 

You shrug. “I’m nothing if not efficient.” 

“I could’ve helped you with all this,” Aaron says, frowning. 

“Why do you think it’s done already?” you ask. 

His throat bobs and he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Let me save you the pain of chivalry,” you say. “I’ve got a friend coming to pick me up. I’ve already found a place. I called your property manager the other day and argued my way out of the lease, but I still paid my next month. You’re welcome.” 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says. 

“You know what they say about a clean break,” you intone.  

“I’m sorry,” Aaron tries again. To his credit, he looks like he means it. Against his credit, it’s about the fiftieth time you’ve heard it from him in the past two weeks. 

“I shouldn’t have let you get that coffee,” you say with a grim smile, “should I?” 

His lips pull into a taut line. “I didn’t cheat on you.” 

“I know,” you say. It’s the one thing you do believe. “I just don’t think you ever fell out of love with her.” 

Mercifully, you see Amy’s car pulling up in the distance. She’s your only friend with an SUV, so at least your boxes will fit. 

“My ride’s here,” you say as you stand up, and you pick up one of your boxes. Amy throws on her hazards and she gets out to open her trunk. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she breathes. “Traffic was awful, and Jake has been so annoying—” 

“Don’t worry about it,” you say with a slight smile as you put your box in the back. “You’re already doing me a huge favor.”  

“I want us to still be friends,” Aaron calls. When you turn back, he has your other box in his hands, his expression shamelessly desperate. Amy glares daggers at him. 

“Why?” you ask innocently. “So I can go without talking to you for ten years, ask you for a coffee when I’m in town, and then get you to leave Haley?” 

“That’s not what happened,” he says, but you’re already shaking your head. 

You take the box from him and smile thinly. 

“Have a good rest of your life, Aaron. I hope it doesn’t involve me ever again.”

-

You let out a noise of frustration as you struggle to get the key into the lock, gritting your teeth as you try to fit it in. It’s always been finicky, but you just don’t have the energy to deal with this tonight. Thankfully, just when you start getting annoyed, you get it open. 

You get a few steps in before your eyebrows rise, the sight of your brother at the kitchen table a surprise. He’s got his head in his hands, and your surprise turns to concern.

“Lucas,” you say with a slight smile, shutting the door behind you, “I didn’t know you were gonna be home tonight.”

His attention shoots to you immediately as he says your name, and he looks slightly out of it. “I was wondering when you were gonna get back.”

“Stole the words right out of my mouth,” you say wryly, and you ruffle his hair with your free hand as you walk past him. He swats your hand away in brotherly protest, and you snort. “This place has been quiet without you. Well— except for the cops. They were pretty loud.” 

“They haven’t been back, have they?” 

You look back at him and notice his leg is bobbing up and down insanely fast, and he keeps scratching at the soft wood of your table with his nail. 

Your smile fades. “Don’t tell me you’ve been drinking.”

“Of course I haven’t,” he insists, but you turn on the kitchen light, then move closer to peer into his eyes against his protests. 

“At least you’re not high,” you murmur, taking one last look before you pull away. “And stop ruining the table. I need it to last for the next ten years.” 

He huffs, and you can practically hear him roll his eyes, but he stops. 

“Did you go to class today?”

“You don’t have to act like Mom,” Lucas says, crossing his arms again with another huff. 

“And you don’t have to act like a child.” You roll your eyes as you set your tote bag on the countertop and begin unpacking the groceries you bought. “I’m asking you about your day—that’s definitely not acting like Mom.”

“Yes,” he mocks. “I went to class.”

“Good.” You glance back at him. “I’m proud of you, Luke. You’ve been making progress.” 

His smile is a bit thin, but he nods. “Thanks. How was work?”

You scoff and shake your head as you put a couple things in the pantry. “Don’t even get me started. I swear, Marie’s going to get me fired someday if she keeps her bullshit up.”

“She’s still on it?” Luke asks, and you can’t help but smile a bit. 

“Don’t act like you know what I’m talking about,” you say. “Just agree with me.” 

“I agree with you,” he says. 

“That’s it,” you muse. 

Your eyes fall back on your bag, and you’re reminded of what you meant to do next time your brother showed up. 

“Oh—” You go back over to the kitchen table for your bag and pull out your wallet. You slide a debit card out and hold it out to your brother. “Thanks for letting me use it while I was up in Des Moines. I finally got my bank to get rid of the freeze on my card.” 

“…Of course,” he says, and he takes it back. “Glad I could help.” 

“I’ll pay you back, obviously,” you say as you get back to your groceries. “I just have to wait to get paid again.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “And uh— you never answered me. Did the cops come by again?” 

You huff a mirthless laugh and shake your head. “You have nothing to worry about, Luke. I think they finally realized they were barking up the wrong tree.”

“…Good,” he says. “I can tell they’ve stressing you out.”

“Like that looks any different than my normal state,” you say wryly. “Besides, it wasn’t that bad.” 

You recall the shock you felt when you opened the door to Aaron, and how nervous you were on the drive to the precinct. It’s almost been a decade, and yet he still has an effect on you that he has no right to. 

“You remember that guy I dated when I was still in law school? Aaron Hotchner?”

“I think? I was in jail, so.” 

You roll your eyes. “I know I told you about him when I visited you while we were together.” 

“I remember you telling me how he broke your heart,” Luke says. 

“That’s not what I’m saying.” 

“Then what are you saying?” 

“That he’s with the FBI now. The BAU,” you enunciate, and you huff. “He’s one of the guys on this case, coincidence that it is. They came here—they even brought me in for an interview.”

He frowns. “What’d you say?”

“The truth.” You pull your cutting board and a knife out of a drawer and get to work washing your vegetables. “That I didn’t know anything, and neither of us are involved in either way.” You shake your head with a sigh. “They must believe it, because they haven’t come back.” 

“What have they said about me?” he asks. 

“I’m not supposed to say.” You roll your eyes. “I think you’re innocent, but I could get charged with obstruction, and I really don’t feel like dealing with that…” 

You trail off into a sigh as you finish washing the peppers and set them on a towel. “I hope they find whoever’s doing it, though. It is freaking me out that there’s a murderer out there.” 

You pick up your knife and start cutting them up—they’re not the freshest, but it’s all Kroger had after work—and you glance back at Luke. “You really shouldn’t be going out so often with this going on, y’know. I don’t want you getting hurt.” 

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m careful.” 

“I doubt that,” you say wryly. “Still, though. I worry about you.” 

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” he asks. “I’m your older brother.” 

“I worry about everything,” you say. “It’s my thing.” 

You hear him huff a laugh and you smile a bit to yourself. You get through your first pepper before you remember what’s been nagging at you your whole ride home. 

“Oh— can you get the TV?” you ask. “Channel 8, I think. Marcy is getting interviewed for something with her nonprofit, and I told her I’d record it for her.”

Lucas doesn’t respond, though you hear the scrape of the chair as he gets up. 

“Thank you,” you say. “I think they have a fundraiser coming up or something…” you trail off and shake your head as you scrape the cut peppers onto a plate. “God. I need to start paying attention in the break room.”

Another few seconds pass, and you don’t hear the television switch on. You huff and turn your head slightly. “Luke, I’m making dinner tonight. This is the least you could do.” 

“I’m sorry.”

The words come out as a murmur, but you can tell he’s much closer than he was before. 

You don’t even get the chance to turn around before something crashes against your head and your vision goes dark. You feel yourself fall to the ground, and your head hits the floor hard. 

Then, there’s nothing. 

-

Hotch has been breaking every speeding law there is. 

The station isn’t too far from your house, but it’s still too far. All he can see is your body, crippled and lifeless just like every other victim they’ve had to look at. 

It should never have gotten to this point. Lucas has been a suspect for the first day, but they looked to other suspects, got caught up in statements from neighbors and the kids of the victims. 

If Hotch just found him and booked him on the first day, this wouldn’t be happening. Your life wouldn’t be in danger. 

His hands tighten on the steering wheel. 

“I seriously think we’re looking at a murder-suicide if this gets to play out,” Reid speaks up from the backseat. “This is his way of ending this for both of them—the ultimate protection of his sister.”

“No one can hurt her if she’s dead,” Morgan mutters. 

“Hotch,” Prentiss starts, treading carefully, “are you sure you’re okay to lead this?”

“Yes,” he says, though he wants to say what kind of question is that?

You were together a lifetime ago in law school, yes, and he might still have feelings for you that he didn’t even realize were there, yes—but he’s an agent and a professional before all of that. 

It doesn’t matter that you have history. It doesn’t matter that you likely hate him. 

It doesn’t matter that he thought he was going to marry you one day, and then was watching you drive out of his life after he got back with his high school girlfriend another day.  

Aaron Hotchner is not going to let you die. It’s as simple as that. 

Hotch’s phone rings and he picks it up and flips it open immediately. “Talk to me, Garcia.”

“JJ and Rossi are on their way,” she says. “Are you headed to their place?” 

“Yes,” he says, and he puts it on speaker. “I’ve got Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid with me still.” 

“Do you think there’s anywhere else he could be?” Morgan asks. “If he’s going to kill her, he might not want to do it in this house.” 

“Already a step ahead of you, my love,” she says, and he can hear mouse clicks through the phone. “They grew up in a house in St. Charles—it’s abandoned, from the looks of it, some place on the outskirts. Never got another buyer after the past owners moved out. I’m sending the address to Emily right now.”

Prentiss gets a buzz on her phone and she nods in confirmation after flipping it open. Hotch immediately switches lanes and makes a U-turn, his jaw clenching. 

“Tell me how to get there, Prentiss,” he says. “He’s there.”

“You need to get on I-70,” she says, and then her brow furrows. “How do you know?”

“He’s killed everyone else in their homes because he sees it as the source of it all. His sister’s rented place isn’t personal enough.” Hotch shakes his head. “Why wouldn’t he want to go back to theirs to end it all?”

“Hotch.” Penelope’s voice rings out in the car, and he doesn’t even realize he forgot to hang up. 

“What?”

“Be careful,” she says, and he rushes to turn it off speaker and press it to his ear. “I… I know how important this is to you.”

Hotch’s throat bobs and his eyes burn with the beginnings of tears. He blinks them away—he can’t be weak now. He can’t let his team see him be weak now. “Dare I ask how?”

“I found an article about GW’s mock trial team,” she says. “Kind of went down a rabbit hole from there.”

Somehow, he huffs the slightest laugh. It feels like a lifetime ago—it honestly is, at this point. Before he saw carnage and gore on a daily basis and tried to solve it, when he thought the DA’s office was the endpoint, when he came home to your smiling face every night. 

And now… 

Hotch’s spine somehow stiffens, and he knows the other three in the car are watching him. He can’t decide whether he cares or not. 

“Thank you, Garcia.”

“No problem,” she says, and he can almost hear her blink in the pause. “Uh— for what, exactly?” 

For the memory, he wants to say. But he doesn’t. He can’t, not right now, so he tries his best to snap out of it. 

“Keep a watch on the patrol cars,” he says instead. “Update JJ and Rossi on our plan, but tell them to stay on their path. I’m sure I’m right, but we need to cover our bases.” 

“Of course, sir.” He hears her fingers flying across the keys. “I’ve got yours and the squad cars’ locations up—I’ll call them now.” 

“Thank you,” he says. 

“Good luck, Hotch,” Garcia says softly. 

Hotch hangs up before he gets too emotional. Penelope has a way of bringing that side out of him. 

“We’ll get him,” Prentiss assures. She’s been watching him this whole time, he can feel it—she’s been attuned far too keenly on this entire part of the case involving you and him. “And we’ll save her.” 

His knuckles go white around the steering wheel, and for once, Hotch can’t find the words. 

-

It feels like your head is slowly being cranked in a vice when you eventually wake up, a dull but insistent pain. Your arm stings too, but you don’t know why. 

You blink a few times as you try to figure out where you are, a low groan slipping out as you fully come back into consciousness, and you move to rub the grogginess out of your eyes. 

Your arms don’t move. You try again, panic spiking your heart for a moment, and that’s when you realize you’re in a chair—tied to a chair, your wrists bound together behind you and your ankles bound to the chair legs. 

Now the panic fully sets in. There’s a murderer in St. Louis, but you don’t fit the victimology from what you’ve seen, but does any of that fucking matter when you’re stuck in something out of a horror movie?

Lucas was the only one there with you. So either he’s in the same situation, or he—

“You’re finally awake,” a voice murmurs. When he comes into view and sits down across from you, your heart stops. 

For a moment, all you can do is stare at your brother with wide eyes. You see the gun in his hand through your peripherals, but you don’t look away from his gaze. 

“I was worried I was too rough,” he says softly. “But you’ve always been resilient.” 

“Lucas,” you breathe. “What the fuck is this?”

“It’s finally going to be over,” he says, ignoring your panic. “We’ve been hurting our whole lives because of that bastard of a father, and I can finally make it all stop.” 

Your brother is fucking crazy. He’s fucking crazy, and he’s going to kill you.

You’ve spent two weeks telling Aaron he was crazy and your brother was innocent, and now he’s going to be proven right when he finds your dead body. 

You try to tamp down on your panic. You don’t have a law degree, sure, and you never officially practiced, but you’ve been a good speaker, a persuasive one, all your life. 

And if there’s ever been a fucking time to be persuasive, it’s now. 

“You don’t have to do this,” you whisper. “We— we can talk if you want to talk.” You tug at your ankle restraints. “This is unnecessary.” 

He shakes his head. “I know you. You’d run.” 

“Come on.” You manage as much of a smile as you can. “I’ve always been there for you, Luke. Why would this be any different?” 

“…You’ve always been too nice,” he says, and he sets the gun down on his leg. At least he doesn’t have his finger on the trigger. “Anyone rational would’ve kicked me to the curb when I asked you for help.” 

“You’re my brother,” you whisper. “I— I love you, Lucas. I’d never do that to you.” 

“Family’s supposed to be everything, right?” He shakes his head. “You were the only one of us that understood that. You were there to pick me up every time my sentence was up.” 

“I’ve always believed in you,” you say. 

He huffs a monotone laugh as he stares at the ground. “You’re definitely the only one.”

You shake your head. “That’s not true.” 

“Mom didn’t care enough to stop anything,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “And Dad wished I was dead every goddamn day. He didn’t have the guts to do it himself, but he definitely tried.” 

You can’t defend your parents. Your dad’s a piece of shit, and your mom didn’t stop anything he did—but you could never find it in yourself to fully hate her because he hurt her too, with more than just bruises. 

“I’ve dreamt of killing our dad every day for twenty years,” Lucas says. “And that old bastard had to fuck me over one last time and die while I was in jail.”

You remember when you got the news. You were next of kin—your mother was dead, and your brother was incarcerated—so you got the call from the hospital. You deliberated for hours before you bought a plane ticket to Montana—apparently that was where he fucked off to drink himself to death—and you don’t know if you’ve ever felt more numb than when you were sitting in some lawyer’s office, listening to him drone on about his will and how his estate would be divided. 

“So you killed all of those people?” you asked. “Because you didn’t get to kill our dad first?” 

“I was saving those kids!” Luke yells, and you shrink in on yourself. “Saving them before their parents could fuck them up like ours did to us!” 

“You don’t have to do this,” you repeat. “You’re just letting Dad win. Proving every shitty thing he said about you.” 

“And that’s the zinger, isn’t it? Luke laughs and shakes his head. “He was right. We’re a whole family of fuck-ups. An alcoholic abuser, a battered wife, a nonstop jailbird, and you…” He shakes his head with a sigh. “You should be out there prosecuting people like me.”

“He ruined us,” Luke murmurs. “And I’m finally going to fix it.” 

All you can do is stare at your brother, wide and teary eyed. You can’t find the words, but you don’t have to. 

Police sirens begin to filter through the air as they get closer, and Luke huffs. “Of course.” He eyes you. “Don’t go anywhere.” 

“I wouldn’t dare,” you say weakly. 

When he leaves to peer out the front door, you take a second to look at your surroundings. It takes a second because they’re so decrepit, but you could never forget. 

Luke brought you back to your childhood home—the place in St. Charles, rotten down to its bones. It’s abandoned by now, but the atmosphere is nothing less than oppressive. There’s a reason you graduated high school a year early, why you never came back once you got to college—except with Aaron, to help your mom move her things out. 

You refuse to die here. Even if you have to claw your way back through the gates of Hell inch by inch—you will not die here. 

You hear footsteps, and when Lucas comes back in, he has a crazed glint in his eye. He shakes his head as his finger returns back to the trigger, and you can’t help but flinch. He won’t. Not now. 

“Looks like your friends the FBI are here,” he drawls. “You said you didn’t tell them anything.” 

“I didn’t,” you insist. “They’re profilers—they figure things out.” 

He shakes his head. “They don’t realize that I have to do this.” Luke kneels down in front of you and takes your chin in an iron grip. “This is the only way to end our pain.” 

He lets go of you then stands up, moving behind you—you want to protest, but you don’t get the chance. He presses his gun to your temple and then the door is broken down. Four agents rush in, guns at the ready. Aaron leads them, and he’s got fire blazing in his eyes.

“FBI,” he barks. “Hands up.”

Lucas doesn’t seem fazed, his breathing staying the same. You stare right at Aaron, unfiltered fear in your eyes, and you feel torn bare. He’s going to watch your brother put a bullet in your head. 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he says smoothly. “This is a family matter.” 

“Put the gun down, Lucas,” Aaron says. 

“You know my name,” he says. “I know yours too, Aaron Hotchner. My sister told me you were with the feds. She also told me you broke her heart.”

“Put the gun down,” he repeats. 

“I don’t think I will,” Luke says. “You see, I don’t go around just kidnapping people for fun. I have a purpose here.” He tilts his head to the side. “But you know that, don’t you? You’re all profilers.” 

“You’ve been targeting families that look like your own,” he says. “You think that killing them will end the pain inside you, and protect those kids in a way that you never got.” 

“I don’t think it,” he bites, “I know it. If my dad had been shot thirty years ago, we wouldn’t be here right now.” 

“This isn’t going to bring you peace,” Aaron says. “Your sister has been the only person to stay by your side through every part of your life. Do you really want to lose that?” 

“Trust me,” Luke says. “I’m not losing her.” 

He flicks the safety off and you flinch. He’s going to kill you. 

“Put the gun down,” another agent warns. 

“If you all don’t leave right now, I’ll shoot her.” Your whole body stiffens as he presses the gun harder into the side of your head, your breathing going off kilter. “Except you, Aaron Hotchner. You can stay.”

“We’re not doing that,” the woman says. Agent Prentiss, you think. 

“Really?” Luke chuckles. “You think you hold the cards here?” 

“It’s okay,” Aaron says. “Go.” 

Agent Prentiss frowns, and the other two men look different levels of puzzled. They obviously doubt the decision, but they don’t doubt Aaron, because one by one, they leave. 

“Wow,” Luke muses. “They really trust you.” 

“Because I know you don’t want to hurt her,” Aaron says. “Deep down, you know you’re not protecting her. Not by hurting her.” 

“I’m not hurting her,” he says. “She’s always been the one to keep me safe over the years—I’m finally paying the favor back. I’m finally taking her pain away.”

“You were abused as children. Both of you.” Aaron looks at your brother. “Your sister always tried to protect you, but it never worked. It just made it worse for her, and it made you feel worthless. You’re her older brother. You’re the one that was supposed to protect her.”

“My sister said you’re profilers,” he says, and though his tone is lazy, you know your brother. You can tell it’s starting to get to him. “Is that what you’re doing right now? Profiling me?” 

“You would never be good enough for your father, and your mother would never do anything to stop it,” Aaron continues. “All you had was your sister, and even that wasn’t good enough—you hurt her just as much as your dad did. At least your dad didn’t think he was a good person.” 

Luke growls, and he puts a hand on your shoulder to pull you closer to him. “Shut up.” 

“Your sister has told me you can be more than this,” he says. “And I think she’s right. You’re better than this—better than living between the margins and jail.” 

“I’ve had a hole in my chest since I was born,” Luke mutters. “And I’ve tried to stop it, but it’s just grown and grown and grown. This— this aching pit of pain, and he caused it. You’ve got it too— I know it.” 

“I— I do,” you say. And you’re not lying. You’ve had a pit of despair in you for as long as you can remember. The only difference is that you’ve fought every goddamn day of your life to keep it from consuming you. “And it hurts, Luke. Trust me, I know. It took me so long to even be able to deal with it, but I know how to. I can help you—we can both walk out of here.” 

“No,” he whispers. “No—we can’t.”  

“Yes, we can,” you plead. “I love you, Luke. I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life helping you if that’s what it takes to get rid of that hole.” 

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. For a moment, you think you’ve gotten through to him. Aaron never takes his eyes away from you. 

“I’ve never been able to protect her,” Luke murmurs. “Not from our dad, not from the world, not even from you, Aaron Hotchner.” He presses the gun harder than ever into your head, like he wants to bury the metal in your skull along with the bullet. “But that all ends now.” 

You screw your eyes shut. You don’t want to see Aaron’s face when your brother kills you. 

And then it happens so quickly you barely process it. 

There’s two gunshots, almost at the same time. You scream, first because of the gunshots, then because of the sudden roaring pain in your side. There’s a thud next to you, your eyes shoot open, and you see your brother’s lifeless body fall to the ground. 

You scream again—you can’t even control it, it just rips out of you at the sight of the hole in his head and the blood pooling beneath it—and Aaron drops his gun to rush forward. The rest of his team thunders in after him, all in guns and bulletproof vests, and they’re talking, but you can’t focus on a single goddamn thing because your brother’s dead body is right next to you. 

Aaron pulls out a pocket knife and begins to cut through your restraints, and the instant he finishes you collapse. He catches you without a second thought, and you immediately wrap your arms around him. 

Torrential sobs wrack your entire body as you bury your face in the crook of his shoulder, every part of you shaking as the reality of it all hits with full force. 

Your brother is a serial killer. He killed ten people, he tried to kill you. And now he’s dead. 

The only part you had left of your family—gone, just like that, with four other families ruined in his wake. 

Aaron’s soft voice in your ear is the only thing bringing you back from the edge of hyperventilation, his own hold on you the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs and he shrugs off his windbreaker to wrap it around your arms. “You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

“He’s gone,” you choke out, voice muffled as you speak into his chest. “He’s gone, and he tried to—”

A fresh round of emotions hit you, unable to get the words out, and you fully break down in Aaron’s arms. 

“I know.”

Aaron’s fingers linger on your side and you feel some dull pain, but you feel his breath still for a moment. 

“You were shot,” he says with your name. “We have to get you to a hospital.” 

You don’t even feel it. God, you don’t feel anything. There’s a distant ringing in your ears, an insistent pain in your skull, and you finally realize Aaron is right when you pull away and see the blood on his fingers. 

But black spots start to fill your vision. You may not feel it, but your body holds the score. The pain intensifies in your side as your adrenaline starts to slow down, and you collapse against Aaron. 

“Get an EMT in here!” he yells, keeping an arm wrapped around you. “We’ve got a GSW— she’s losing blood fast!” 

You can feel Aaron’s rapid heartbeat, can feel his steady arms as he keeps you propped up. You feel the warmth of his body, feel the warmth draining out of yours. 

“Aaron,” you whisper, your strength fading. You don’t think he hears you.

He helps you up and you’re suddenly hoisted onto a stretcher, and he’s beside you as the EMTs run you out of your childhood home. The night is a blurry canvas of red and blue lights, and your eyelids feel like they’re made of concrete. 

“Aaron,” you try again, and you have enough left in you to grasp his cheek. “Thank you.” 

And as the world goes black around you for the second time, you see his lips form your name. 

It’s not a bad thing, you think before darkness overtakes you, for Aaron Hotchner to be the last thing you see before you die. 

-

You wake up in the hospital alone.  

You don’t know what you expect. You have few acquaintances, fewer friends, and the last part of your family is dead after he tried to kill you. 

The real surprise is that you wake up at all. 

Lucas is dead. 

He tried to kill you. You thought he succeeded. 

You let out a slow, even breath, accompanied only by the sounds of beeping machines. It still doesn’t exactly feel real. 

You’ve spent the last two weeks defending your brother against every accusation, and you ended it in the hospital—well and truly alone for the first time in your life. 

You look at the television. Some muted soccer game is playing, and you’re thankful. You were worried that you and your brother would be the topic of the day. 

Who are you kidding? You’re going to be the topic of the year. He killed ten people. He tried to kill you, and you think he nearly did. He shot you, after all. 

You let your head fall back against the pillow. All of your limbs feel insurmountably heavy, your side aches like hell, and you’ve got the worst headache of your life. 

And you can’t stop playing it all over in your mind. 

He was going to kill you. 

Your own brother, your flesh and blood, the only person you had left, tried to kill you and would have killed you had it not been for the BAU. 

Had it not been for Aaron Hotchner. 

The door opens and someone walks through, your eyes following the movement, and when he sees it, he pauses. And so do you—apparently the devil appears even when you think of him. 

“You’re awake,” Aaron says after a moment. It’s the third time he’s sounded surprised since you’ve met him again. Seeing you, finding out your mom is dead, seeing you. 

But there’s relief there, too.

He has a coffee in his hand and his tie is undone, the sleeves of his white undershirt rolled up to his forearms. It makes you realize his suit jacket has been slung over the back of the chair near your bedside. 

“How long have you been here?” you ask, your brows furrowing ever so slightly. 

Aaron closes the door and sets his coffee on the table before he answers you. “Three days.” 

“And how long have I been here?” 

“Three days,” he says. “You suffered head trauma, they discovered drugs in your system, and… you were shot. You had to go into emergency surgery.” 

You frown, and he answers before you can ask any of them. “…Your brother. After he knocked you out, he used something to… keep you out. And after I shot him, he still got one off—thankfully, as he was falling. The bullet hit you in the side instead of the head.”

“How bad was it?” you ask. 

Aaron glances away. “You died on the table. They managed to bring you back, but…” 

“I guess Luke did succeed,” you say absentmindedly. Aaron doesn’t laugh, and you glance away too. “Sorry. Bad time for jokes.” 

He shakes his head. “If anyone’s allowed to joke about this, it’s you.” 

Your lips twitch for a moment, but then you look back at him as he takes a seat at your bedside again. He looks— god, he just looks tired. Tired and ragged and downtrod, and you can’t imagine you look much better.  

“You were out for two days after,” he explains. “This is the first time you’ve woken up.”

“Why are you here, Aaron?” you ask quietly. “Why have you been here?” 

Aaron frowns. “Where else would I be?”

Your throat feels like it’s closing up, and you feel the telltale pinpricks of tears. You blink them away before they can start. 

“My brother was a serial killer, Aaron.” Your hands clench into fists as you stare at the wall. “He killed ten people while he was living with me and I— and I didn’t even fucking notice.” Your gaze moves back to him. “I went against all of you because I thought I knew him, and look where it got me.” 

“It’s not a crime to want to see the best in people,” he says. “Especially your family.” 

“It’s a crime to fucking murder people,” you huff, and it’s only slightly unhinged. “I— I thought I knew him, and I didn’t. And if I did, maybe none of these people would’ve had to die.”

“Don’t blame this on yourself,” Aaron demands. “Lucas was lost. Mentally ill. He was on a path for revenge, for his deranged idea of protection—nothing you could have said or done would have stopped him.” 

You shake your head. “It might be easy for you to say that, Aaron, but I— I can’t. He’s my brother. I gave him a place to live, I gave him easy access to families— god, I fought with you all for two weeks about his innocence, all while he was planning his next fucking murder!” 

“It is not your fault,” he repeats, slower and enunciating the words. “He was the only member left of your family, and you loved him. You were just stubborn, and that’s nothing new.” 

“I just don’t know what to do.” You’ve had these walls up for so long, especially this past week, and now that everything’s come to a head and you’re in the hospital and your fucking brother is dead, the floodgates have opened. “I have to plan a funeral because I’m the only one left to plan one, but— but does he even deserve one? He’s a serial killer, and he tried to kill me for god’s sake, but he’s my brother and even though he’s gone he’s still all I have left and—” 

You break off as you suck in a huge breath of air, the notion shaky as you clench your hands into fists to keep the rest of your body from doing the same. 

“And I just don’t know what to do,” you repeat, barely a whisper. 

You meet Aaron’s eyes, almost desperately. You feel like you’ll shatter into a million different pieces if you even breathe wrong and he might be the only solid thing in your life. 

“Whatever you do,” he says, “you don’t have to do it alone. Not if you don’t want to.” 

“Aaron,” you start shakily, but he continues. 

“I know what you think, and that’s not what I’m suggesting.” Aaron pauses for a moment, and it’s obvious how carefully he’s crafting his words. “I’ve… always regretted how we left things. And I regret losing touch with you. This isn’t the way I would’ve liked to meet you again. But I’m thankful I have.”

He pulls a card out of his shirt pocket and holds it out to you. You realize it’s his business card, and it’s got his number. 

“I’m sorry for the formality,” he says dryly, “but I don’t exactly go around prepared to give out my number for purposes other than work.” 

You take it without giving yourself the chance to think about it. You run your finger around the sharp edge of the cardstock, pressing the pad of your thumb against the corner. 

“Years ago, you wished me a good life, and that you didn’t want to be involved in it,” he says, still treading carefully. You can’t believe he remembers the last thing you said to him. “But— but a lot has changed since then, and I hope that has as well.” 

“I’d like you to be a part of my life again,” Aaron finally says, “if you want to be a part of mine.”

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him. Two and a half years of law school flash behind your eyes—coffee shop dates and endless hours spent studying at the library. Movie nights cuddled on his couch, hauling boxes out of your house at an ungodly hour to get away from your roommates. An unhealthy amount of all-nighters immediately followed by going out to celebrate a miracle of an A on an exam. Getting through every soul-sucking part of earning a J.D. together, falling apart before either of you could make it to the other side, and somehow…

Somehow, you’ve ended up on a completely different side together. 

“My life isn’t going to be easy,” you say faintly. “Especially… moving through this.” 

“My life isn’t easy either,” he says. “I’m divorced with a kid and I try to solve murders every day.” 

“It’s not a contest.” An attempt at a joke, but it falls flat for you. Aaron’s lips still quirk at the edges the slightest bit. 

“Getting through this certainly won’t be easy,” he agrees. “But I have more experience than most in these sorts of things. So if you ever need anything, call. Please.” 

“I imagine you’re pretty busy,” you murmur. “Unit chief and all.” 

Aaron shrugs. “I make time for the things I care about.” 

Thankfully, you don’t have to figure out how to respond to that, because there’s a knock on the door, and a nurse walks in after you call a come in.

“It’s good to finally see you awake, sweetheart,” the nurse says with a smile. It warms you from the inside out. 

“It’s nice to be awake,” you say. Her smile widens and she moves over to the computer in the side of the room—to add some things before she makes her checkup, you assume. 

“I’ll give you some time alone,” Aaron says.

Before he can stand up, you grab his hand. It’s fully on instinct, and he looks just as surprised as you feel.  

“Don’t go,” you plead, and it’s almost a whisper. “I— just— please.” 

Aaron stares at you for a moment, that shock glinting in his eyes before it transforms into something a lot warmer. He nods and sits down. 

“Okay.” 

And he stays. 

This time, he stays.

[covenofagatha]

But you're my stepmom! (Part 2)

Agatha takes you out to dinner.

Word count: 2500

Warnings: none (I think)

A/N: this ended up being way longer than I was planning, so hope you all enjoy. Happy Agatha night to all who celebrate!

Taglist: @stayevildarling @i-just-cannot @hazey-g @buttercandy16 @320viada

“You’re home early,” your mom says when you walk through the front door. You check your watch and shrug. 4:15. Granted, if you had come from school, you wouldn’t be back right now. 

After your encounter with Agatha, you had quickly scooped up the broken glass, tracked down Wanda, and then driven her back to school to drop her off. She had asked if you were coming, but you were buzzing with the thought of dinner with your step-mother that night so you knew there was no way you could’ve focused. And there was no point going to seventh period anyway. It was history – your least favorite subject. 

So Wanda went back to class and you went shopping. You didn’t know where Agatha and you were going for dinner, didn’t know the dress code, but you knew how the older woman dressed and you weren’t going to look homeless next to her. 

At the mall, you were able to find a tight black dress that accentuates your curves nicely. The neckline was bordering on inappropriate and the hem came down to your mid-thigh, but it was cheap and it made you look good. You had hidden the bag inside your backpack to avoid your mom asking questions. 

“I have some homework to do and then Wanda and I are getting dinner,” you tell her. Your mom is a bit touchy with the subject of your father and Agatha, so you know better than to tell the truth. 

“Sounds good, hon,” she says, turning back to her computer. “Did you have a good day?” 

You hum noncommittally and then go upstairs. The first thing you do is take a shower to wash the chlorine from the swim you and Wanda took earlier and then you curl your hair. You’re not sure why you’re putting so much effort in to look nice for dinner with Agatha. You tell yourself that it’s just because she always looks like she’s just stepped off the cover of Vanity Fair and you don’t want to appear underdressed compared to her, but a small part of you knows you want to look good for her. You shake your head to get rid of the thought. 

You apply some light makeup on your face and then slip into the dress you had bought. You dig through your closet and find some short heels that pair nicely. Fuck, you hope Agatha is taking you someplace fancy and not just a chain restaurant. 

Your phone buzzes and you look at it. It’s a text from an unknown number: I’ll be there in 20. 

Who is this? You type back, figuring it’s Agatha but just wanting to make sure. You find it amusing that you haven’t saved her number. You get an eye roll emoji in response and you smile. 

20 minutes to spare. You hate to admit it, but you spend most of that time pacing back and forth in your room, wringing your hands nervously. You’re not sure why nerves are twisting in your stomach. Maybe it’s just because you’ve never spent any one-on-one time with your step-mother before. Maybe it’s the way she was looking at you when she was cleaning up your leg earlier, or the way she squeezed your thighs when you were sitting on the counter. 

No, definitely not the latter. 

You finally give up on trying to calm down. You throw a hoodie over your dress so your mom doesn’t see it and walk downstairs. She hardly glances at you from her spot at the kitchen table. 

“What time will you be back?” she asks. 

“Maybe by 8?” you guess. Once again, you have no idea what you’re getting into with Agatha. 

“Where are you guys going?” 

Can’t answer that either. “When she picks me up, we’re going to figure that out.” 

“Well, have fun and don’t stay out too late.” 

“I won’t,” you promise, walking over to give her a kiss on the cheek. She’s been looking older every day. The divorce was really hard on her so she’s been burying herself in work for the past two years and it’s finally catching up. “Make sure you eat something.” You get a text. I’m out front, from a still unknown number. You smirk to yourself. “I’ll see you later, mom.” She pats your arm and you walk outside. 

A black range rover is parked to the right of your house, out of sight from the windows. You open the passenger seat and get inside, tearing off your hoodie. Thank god you dressed up. She’s wearing a dark burgundy suit that dips low, showing some cleavage. Her long dark hair flows down her back and her gold earrings glint in the sunlight. She looks hot. 

And based on how she’s looking at you, she appreciates your outfit as well. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, breaking the silence. 

“You’ll see,” she says mysteriously, shifting the car into drive. The ride to wherever you’re going is filled with awkward silence. You don’t know if you’re supposed to say something first, but she was the one who dragged you along. 

You purse your lips as the minutes pass. You sneak a glance at Agatha and she looks perfectly content. “So, where’s my dad tonight?” you finally ask, not being able to take it anymore. 

She smirks knowingly. “A work dinner. You know how things are around this time of the year.” Suddenly, you get angry. You don’t know. You haven’t lived under the same roof as him in two years. 

“Oh, sure,” you say, voice caustic. “Back when my parents were still married, he was busy all the time. Glad to hear it’s more of a seasonal thing now.”

She shoots you a look, face soft. “Honey–”

“You know he cheated on my mom, right? What makes you think he won’t do the same to you? Maybe there isn’t a work dinner at all,” you whisper conspiratorially, feeling horrible the moment it comes out of your mouth. The divorce has filled you with a rage that is hard to control and it slips out at the worst possible times. And now you’ve undoubtedly made the rest of the night even more uncomfortable than it already was going to be. “Fuck, Agatha, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” 

She doesn’t even seem phased, just reaches over and pats your leg. “I know how tough this must be for you.” 

You can’t help but roll your eyes. That’s all you’ve heard for the past two years. But you do still feel bad for your uncalled outburst. “That doesn’t make it okay. Plus he’d be a fool to cheat on you,” you mutter under your breath, blushing slightly when she smirks. 

“How does this sound: tonight, I’m not your father’s new wife. I’m just a woman who wants to get to know you a little better. We can eat, talk, have fun. It doesn’t have to be a step-mother-step-daughter bonding thing if you don’t want it to be.” 

“That would be nice,” you begrudgingly admit. She winks and turns into the parking lot of the new Italian steakhouse that has just opened up nearby your house. “Agatha, this is–”

“My treat,” she cuts you off. “Let’s go, sweetheart.” You trail behind her into the restaurant, gaping at how nice it looks. “Hi, reservation for two under Harkness?” It was always wickedly satisfying to you how she didn’t take your dad’s last name. 

The hostess nods and beckons for you both to follow her. She seats you at a table tucked away in the corner and places menus in front of you. 

“Jesus,” you say, flipping through. 

“The first time is always a bit overwhelming,” Agatha says, your cheeks heating up at the double meaning. “How’s your leg doing?”

You had completely forgotten about the cuts. “Oh, it’s feeling better. Thank you, by the way. For cleaning me up and not saying anything–” You remember her rules and you shut your mouth. She chuckles. 

“Of course, sweetheart. Like I said, our little secret.” 

The waitress comes over and takes your drink orders. You order a shirley temple and Agatha gets a glass of red wine. When she comes back with them, you make a point to stare anywhere but Agatha when she licks her lips after she takes a sip. 

“Are you ladies ready to order?” The waitress asks. Agatha recites some dish from memory and you are sure you look like a fish out of water when the waitress turns to you. Agatha stifles a laugh and orders the same thing for you. 

“What did you get me?” You turn back to her once the waitress is out of earshot. 

“The Filet Portabella. Trust me, you’ll love it.” You’ll have to take her word for it. “So, how is senior year going?” 

You launch into the speech that you give every single time someone asks you that, something along the lines of: school is great but it’s stressful with the college search and no, you don’t know where you want to go yet or what you want to major in. It’s one of your least favorite, yet most-often asked questions. 

Agatha hangs onto every word out of your mouth, asking some follow ups. You do have to admit, it is nice to talk to a grown up and actually feel listened to. 

“So, the girl in the pool with you today. Is she your friend, girlfriend..?” Agatha asks once she’s exhausted the school topic. 

“Oh, Wanda? No, we’re just friends. I don’t have a girlfriend. Wait, how did you know I’m gay?” You’re not sure why you’re so flustered. 

“Your dad mentioned it. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t breaking into my house for a little romantic rendezvous.” Her tone is teasing. 

You blush even harder now. You’re 18 years old and you’ve never had anything close to a ‘romantic rendezvous’ with anyone. “Um, no. She’s just my best friend.” And then because you’re having trouble breathing with her staring at you like that, you try to turn the tables. “You never broke into anyone’s pool when you were in high school just to go for a swim?” 

Her eyes glint mischievously. “Never for anything as innocent as just a swim.”

Your mouth runs dry at the image of a younger Agatha (although imagining Agatha right now works too) skinny dipping in a pool with a lover. And then there’s the thought of you and Agatha in her pool. “Oh?” you manage to croak out. 

Agatha leans in closer across the table, voice dropping lower. “My friend and I got caught one time by my neighbor. He was supposed to be out of town another two days but came back early. You should’ve seen his face when he walked out back to find us making out in his pool. My friend was so scared, she ran out and jumped over the fence. And then I had to explain myself all alone.” 

Your breath catches, mouth opening ever so slightly. “She? You – you’re…” Agatha…likes girls?

A wide smirk slowly spreads across her face. “I don’t like labels. But yes, I’ve dated my fair share of women.” 

“Oh. Cool,” you rasp. Thankfully, you’re saved from having to figure out something else to say by the waitress setting two hot plates in front of you. 

“Enjoy!” she says, and leaves you two alone again. 

You pick up your fork and knife, slicing easily into the meat. You hesitantly pop the piece into your mouth and moan instantly. The filet literally melts in your mouth, giving way to possibly the best thing you’ve ever tasted. 

“This is so good,” you mumble while chewing, looking back up at Agatha, who has a strange look on her face. Her eyes are darker than before and you raise an eyebrow. 

She blinks and then takes a bite of her meal. “I’m glad you like it sweetheart,” she says, watching you dig back in. You both eat your food in silence and when the check comes, Agatha doesn’t even look at the bill before slapping down her credit card. 

“Thank you for dinner,” you say. “I had a really nice time.” 

Agatha gives you a real smile. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ve really enjoyed tonight as well and I hope we can start spending more time together.” You open your mouth, maybe to protest or maybe to agree, but at that moment, the waitress comes back with her card. 

“You both have a lovely night. And can I just say, you two are a really cute couple.” 

You choke on nothing and you suddenly are doubled over in a coughing fit. Agatha politely thanks the waitress before coming over to you and patting you on the back. Your throat begins to hurt and your vision blurs with tears, but you can’t stop. She presses your drink into your hand and you take a big gulp, wincing at the burn from the carbonation. You take a few more slow sips. 

“You okay?” she asks quietly, now rubbing circles on your back. You cough weakly a few more times before your breathing returns to normal. You stand up, embarrassed. She chuckles as she wipes the tears from your eyes. “You can’t die on me now, sweetheart.” 

You run a hand over your forehead. “I’m okay!” 

“Is the thought of us being a couple really that unappealing?” Agatha murmurs playfully into your ear as she leads you out of the restaurant with a hand around your waist. 

“What? No! I was just startled. You’re my step-mother.” Are you imagining the hint of a frown on her face or is it really there?

She opens the car door for you and then gets in the driver’s seat. “Any plans for the weekend?” 

You had honestly forgotten today was Friday. “Um, I don’t think so. My mom’s working all day tomorrow so I might hang out with Wanda or something. I have homework I should probably do as well.”

She hums. 

“Do you have plans?” you ask. 

She chews on her bottom lip for a moment. “Your father and I both have some work we need to do. It’ll be a chill weekend.” 

“That’s good,” you say awkwardly. “I am sorry about what I said earlier. About my dad.” 

She glances at you. “Don’t be. I can only imagine how angry and hurt you are.” 

“I’m not angry with you. You’re actually not that bad.” 

Agatha laughs out loud at that. “Wow, thanks so much, sweetheart.” The pet name, as they have all evening, makes your heart skip a beat. 

“You know what I mean,” you grumble. 

The drive back to your house goes quick and soon enough, she’s parking in the same spot as earlier. 

“Thank you for tonight,” you say again. She smiles softly and leans in. You forget how to breathe but she brushes her lips against your cheek. 

“Good night, honey.” 

You get out of the car in a haze, mind spinning. 

[fallstaticexit]

Prev / Next / Beginning / Pillowfort

AN: heads up, next post is NSFW so it will be broken up into "two parts" (even though it's one post). First part is the SFW part which will post on tumblr as normal, and the rest will be on Pillowfort which will be linked to the post. I'll drop a formal TW/CW before the post drops tomorrow he he

Transcript under the cut

Transcript:

Nancy Narrates: [There was a certain feeling that arose within me when I saw her name on properties around the city; it stirred a mix of both anger and desire]

Nancy Narrates: [If I was going to revel in the satisfaction of her loss to me, I knew I would have to put in twice the work, even if it came at a price]

-

Geoffrey: Go, Johnny! Go! Keep pushing!

Bob: You got it, kid! Bring it home!

Geoffrey: YEEEAAH! That’s my boy! That’s my son!

Bob: Whoa! Kid’s a natural athlete!

Jonathan: I-I made it? I made it! I did it!

Jonathan: Mom! Mom, I made my first goal! Mom!

Nancy: I guaranteed to Mayor Dreamer that I could cut cost 20%. We have 15 days left before the bid is awarded. We need to make this happen!

-

Malcolm: Mommy, come look at my sketches! I made a big house, just like you-

Nancy: I can’t keep burning daylight waiting for answers- one second. Malcolm, not now. Mommy is busy.

Malcolm: [whines] But you’re always busy! I want you to look at it right now!

Nancy: [groans] Please, no whining. Spare Mommy for a moment, please? Give me an hour.

Malcolm: [huffs] One hour!

Nancy: One hour.

Malcolm: It’s been exactly one hour, lady! Mommy? Heeyy...are you sleeping?

-

Nancy: She thinks she can best me at my own game? I’ve prepared my whole life for this, I refuse to let some second rate nothing firm challenge me.

Nancy: And I’ve research her work, her designs are horrid. She’s a brutalist. Of course she is. Anyone can put no effort into a tacky, soulless desolate building and slap a sale price on it. It requires no talent which she clearly lacks.

Geoffrey: Nance. [huffs] Listen, I love hearing about your day, but when I asked how you would like to celebrate our 10 year anniversary, you said you'd be busy with the Dreamer Project, which I understand, but when I asked could we make arrangements after, you went on a tangent about Lily Feng for 45 minutes.

Nancy: D-did I? ...I’m sorry.

Geoffrey: I know I married a passionate woman. It’s just, you have to find a balance with these things. You have to make room for the boys and for me.

Geoffrey: Johnny is feeling sore about you missing his big shot at his game.

Nancy: But I didn’t miss it. I was there!

Geoffrey: There’s being there, and then there’s being there, you know?

Nancy: God, I’m making such a mess of this. I’ll make it up to him. Perhaps... we can make a thing of it, our anniversary. We can take a trip with the boys.

Geoffrey: I’d love that. Baby, I don’t mean to make you feel bad-

Nancy: No, you were right to. I’m getting too carried away.

Geoffrey: [chuckles] I don’t know why you’re so worried, we all know you’ll win.

From: Nancy Landgraab (Nancy@LCorp.net) 3 more days until I’m awarded the bid. I may have a janitorial position open for you if you ask me nicely for it.

From: Lily Feng (l.feng@LE.com) Up so late thinking about me, are you? I guess we’ll see who ends up begging on their knees for work, Landgraab.

-

Assistant: Mrs. Landgraab, the site manager from Tomarang returned your call. He’s on line one. He also has his translator on the line as well.

Nancy Narrates: [I was going to win. Fortunately for me, money was a language spoken everywhere and I had plenty of it]

Lily: [speaking in Tomarangi]

Victor: I need to speak with you. It’s urgent.

Lily: [scoffs, laughs] More important than the needs of our clients here?

Victor: It’s about the Dreamer Project and the Landgraabs.

Victor: The contractors pulled out. They were paid off.

Lily: Fuck! This cannot happen, Victor! The fucking proposal is due in 24 hours! Where the hell are we going to get the cheap labor and materials?!

Victor: We can’t! We’re screwed!

Lily: So... so she won? Is that it?

Victor: Won? Are you serious? Damn it, Lily! You and this- this game of yours will ruin us! We needed this!

Lily: [murmurs] She- actually beat me?

[absolute-flaming-trash]

Pairing: Yandere!Alastor x Fem!Reader

SFW

Word Count: 1'882

Warnings: Yandere, Abuse, Abusive relationship, Choking, Degradation, Manhandling, Threats, Possessiveness, Alastor is a massive asshole and mean as shit. Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Hindsight was always 20/20.

A bit of an understatement, really. Looking back it was hard to believe just how much one decision could impact your entire afterlife, and you wanted to kick yourself.

Desperation was the excuse you gave yourself whenever you thought about why you made a deal with Alastor.

What he proposed wasn’t something you thought too much of at the time. In exchange for your soul, he offered you security - solidarity in a realm where most were keen on focusing on the weakest among them and tearing them to shreds. Not only would you be protected on a daily basis, but you had, essentially, a guarantee that you would survive extermination day whenever it inevitably rolled around.

Seemed almost too good to be true, but knowing the risks involved in refusing, you had accepted.

He never asked much of you in return, much to your surprise. Nothing that ever seemed too unreasonable, at least. If anything, the things he asked of you felt more like exchanges that would occur between friends - taking on small tasks he’d otherwise find too boring to entertain.

Sometimes you’d even go as far as to call them domestic.

Oh, but you knew better than to assume your relationship fell anywhere close to friendship. Amicable was a better word, not good nor bad, but certainly nothing to be overtly confident about - which made what you intended to ask so much worse.

The very thought of it made a shiver go through your body as you walked through the Hotel hallway. A voice in the back of your mind, your conscience perhaps, whispered that it wasn’t too late to turn back. To do a complete 180 and march right back the way you came.

You didn’t listen.

By the time you came to a stop, the hairs on your arms stood completely on end. The door in front of you looked exactly like the others that lined the hallway, deceptive in its mundane simplicity. It only made the feeling of foreboding that much worse as you held your breath and raised your hand to knock, knuckles barely grazing the polished wood at first but connecting more solidly the second time around.

A part of you prayed there wouldn’t be an answer, nails digging further into your palms as the silence extended onwards.

Please don’t answer, please don’t answer-

All hopes were dashed by the dark wood swinging open to reveal a wall of red.

Alastor bent slightly at the waist when greeting you, bringing his eye level slightly down to yours, “My, my, what a pleasant surprise this is!~”

The smile you could muster in response didn’t even come close to matching his own, and your greeting not nearly as jovial.

“Hi.” You said, pausing briefly between words. “I was wondering if you had a few minutes?”

The signature clicking of his vertebrae accompanied the tilt of his head as he stared down at you intrigued. “Whatever for?~”

You began to pick at your nail beds. “Just to talk.”

Alastor hummed, amusement dancing behind his eyes before he opened the door to his suite a little bit wider.

“Oh, I suppose I could spare a moment or two for somebody like you.~”

The way he said it made you unsure whether such a statement was a compliment or an insult, but regardless you followed him inside.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you…” You began to say, looking around the space. No matter how many times you’d been inside, you’d never get used to it.

“Not at all, sweetheart!~” His arm came around your shoulders, leading you further into his suite and towards the table he had set up in the swampland that seamlessly blended in with the decor.

With a flash of green another chair appeared beside his own, and he gestured towards it with the end of his microphone staff.

“Have a seat.~”

You complied, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you did so. Foolishly, you had hoped to stay standing for this conversation in order to keep it as brief as possible. The cool metal of the chair dug into the skin of your thighs despite your clothing and you found yourself staring at the tabletop rather than at Alastor himself.

“Now,” There was some rustling of paper as Alastor picked a newspaper back up off the table, half paying attention to you when he spoke. “What can I do for you, my dear?”

This was it. No going back, no cutting corners, better to rip the bandaid off than to beat around the bush.

You bit your cheek harder and you could already taste the blood on your tongue before you opened your mouth.

“I want out.”

Alastor barely looked in your direction, but the subtle twitch of his ear was hard to miss once you spoke.

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow but never took his eyes off the paper in his lap as he turned the page. “Care to elaborate?”

“Our deal.” The words felt thick when you spoke them. Heavy. “I want my soul back.”

Alastor’s pause made the atmosphere feel nothing short of dreadful as he turned his head to look at you directly. His ever-present smile widened while his eyes narrowed.

“Now what makes you think you deserve that, sweetheart?~”

“It isn’t about deserving anything.” You stated, trying to keep your voice as even as possible. “It’s… renegotiating.”

Alastor snickered, the sound accompanied by a pre-recorded laugh track.

“Well, aren’t you simply adorable?” He placed the newspaper off to the side and rapped his claws against the table. “Unfortunately for you, that’s not how deals work.”

Your hands curled into fists in your lap as he continued speaking.

“While the deal we made was a fairly simple one, the end result is the same.” He crossed his legs and leaned back in his seat. “I own your soul. There aren’t any take-backsies on the matter.”

Nails bit into your palm at the syrupy condescension in his voice. It made anger brim in your chest, but acting on emotion was not a smart move here.

You took a deep breath. “Our deal has run its course, though.” You did your best to ignore how his eyes narrowed further at that. “Now that I’m at the Hotel… it offers what you originally did, so your part of the bargain is no longer necessary.”

His eyes flashed, glowing a brighter red and illuminating the space between the two of you for a moment.

“Ah, I see. You think our deal is now void because I’ve been replaced in a sense.” His smile was anything but reassuring or kind. “And therefore you shouldn’t be expected to uphold your end of the bargain, am I correct?~”

You swallowed thickly. “Yes.”

Alastor tutted. “My dear, who are you to get to decide when our deal is void in any way, shape, or form?”

The question was clearly rhetorical, but you answered anyway.

“Because it’s my soul.” The firmness in your voice did little to cover how weak of an answer that truly was. “I should be able to get a say in when we’ve reached the end of our contract-”

A green flash and the cold snap of metal around your neck cut off any further words you had to say. You barely had any time to register your air getting cut off as you were yanked forward harshly into the dirt - leaving you coughing when the chain slackened enough for you to breathe once more.

“It seems to me that you are forgetting a few things, darling,” Alastor said, pulling sharply on the chain once more to force your face back up to his.

Green stitches lined the seams of his clothes and wove at the edges of his smile - antlers growing with each word he spoke, and it took every bit of courage you had to bite back a whimper.

He was pissed.

“Firstly, the Hotel,” He cooed sweetly,” is the sanctuary you rave it to be because I keep it that way.”

Alastor stood from his chair and stalked towards you, wrapping the end of the chain around his microphone as he went.

“Secondly, might I remind you that it was you who approached me.” He hissed, faux kindness mixing with the barely contained anger you could see in his eyes.

“You,” He nudged your chin with the end of his microphone, “ came to me with the proposal of offering yourself in exchange for my services, not the other way around.” His eyes scanned over your form - lingering on the way your chest moved rapidly to accommodate your breaths before returning to your face.

“I've grown... accustomed to you, my dear, and our deal stands until I say so. Since you are seemingly incapable of understanding the subtleties of that, I’ll put it in simple terms so you can understand.”

The cool metal of your collar was soon replaced with the warm, smooth texture of his glove as he kneeled in the dirt and wrapped his hand around your neck. The gesture made you gasp, reflexively drawing in as much air as possible before he could choke you, but Alastor didn’t squeeze. Instead, he let the weight of his hand do the work.

“I own you. Every breath you take, every little thought in that empty head of yours belongs completely and solely to me.”

The black of his gums peeked out as his smile - which felt more akin to a snarl - widened. “Besides, what would you even do if I gave your soul back?”

Another rhetorical question, but the humiliation and inequity of the situation caused you to answer once more despite everything inside screaming at you not to.

“That’s my business.”

The sheer volume of emotion that passed through Alastor’s eyes told you that was the wrong fucking answer to give.

He snickered and leaned closer to the point you could smell the rot of his breath. “See, you might think that, darling, but since you’re mine, it’s my business too. So here’s how this is going to go.”

The hand around your throat began to squeeze.

“My business is to keep you. You’ll keep doing each and every little thing I ask of you, and you certainly won’t voice complaint when doing so.”

You choked and sputtered again when he hauled you to your feet by your throat and pushed you back into your seat - the armrests catching you directly in the funny bone, causing you to yelp. He placed his hands on either side of you and leered over you. It was the smallest you’d ever felt in your life.

“I’m more than willing to speak to you about anything you wish, darling, I truly am.” He said, inhaling deeply before continuing, and you swore his smile dropped the most you’d ever seen it.

“But if you ever try to speak to me about this again, you’ll learn just how easy you have it with me, is that clear?”

You felt yourself nodding before your mind could even register it. “C-crystal.”

A mixture of relief and dread sunk in your stomach when his smile returned to its normal state and he reached his hand up to pat you twice on the head.

“That’s my girl.~”

© absolute-flaming-trash 2024. Do not repost, modify, copy, or claim.

[xsweetcatastrophe]

You Broke Me First

part 32

how the hell do I have 32 parts of this thing already

xx

Zoe stretched out in the king sized bed, reaching out for her phone to shut off the alarm.

She had ever intention of going into the office today. However, since she was at Cillian's, it was adding an extra 15-20 minutes on to her commute, as well as having to feed Scout and let him out before she left.

Before she could even consider hitting the snooze button, she heard Scout scratching at the door. She dragged the comforter off and got out of bed, unwillingly. She opened the door and was greeted by Scout, sitting patiently at the door with his tail wagging. The second she took a step forward, he leaped towards the stairs and raced down them, making a mad dash for the kitchen.

"okay, okay," Zoe said, following him through the kitchen and to the back french doors that opened up to the large, fenced-in back yard. She opened the door and Scout ran out, sniffing the grass immediately, looking for the perfect spot to go to the bathroom.

It was still early, and the sun had just come up. It was Zoe's favorite time of the day, when the day was still so new and perfect, the birds were starting to softly chirp, the sun wasn't too hot. The calm before the storm, the serenity before the chaos.

The home came with a deck, perfect for outdoor seating and a fire pit. However, Cillian hasn't purchased one yet. Zoe couldn't wait to have her morning coffee out there, and maybe build a fire and roast marshmallows there on chilly nights with Cillian.

Zoe retreated back into the kitchen and made herself a cup of coffee. She opened up the cabinet she designated for Scout's food, and took out a scooper and filled his bowl for his breakfast and gave him some fresh water. Scout was already at the door, whining to come in. Zoe let him in and he went straight for his food, ready for breakfast.

Okay, going to eat something quick, let Scout out after he eats, then go upstairs and shower quick and change, make it to the office and pray the traffic gods are on my side so I can have a spare 5 minutes to stop for more coffee, Zoe thought, mentally going through her to do list for the morning.

Zoe looked at her laptop sitting on the counter. Checking my emails couldn't hurt, she thought. She took a seat, opened up her laptop and logged in.

the first email was from her sister, which wasn't unusual, but the subject line was what caught her eye.

"WTF is this shit," Zoe read the subject line out loud, as she clicked open.

In the body of the email was a link to a Daily Mail article, and it made her stomach drop.

Party like a Shelby! Cillian Murphy Spends Time With New Lady as Peaky Blinders Cast Grabs Dinner and Drinks

Zoe read it 7 times, as if it was going to change in front of her eyes.

He told me he was working late. He was at dinner? Why couldn't he just say he was at dinner?

Zoe scrolled down, and saw photos of the cast, and in the background was Cillian and a tall blonde woman smiling at him. In other photos, she was laughing with him, putting her hand on his shoulder.

What is she laughing at? he's not THAT funny, Zoe thought.

Zoe continued to scroll:

Cillian Murphy might have been called to begin filming, but that doesn't mean the fun has to end. Murphy, 46, was spotted out at Harry's Bar in London. Joining him at the posh bar was the rest of his Peaky Blinders cast, including new cast member Lizzie Hughes, who joined the cast last minute for season six. Previously modeling for Versace in their latest campaign, she excited to spread her wings and jump into her role - and it seems like Cillian Murphy has no problem showing her the ropes! As previously reported, Cillian was recently dating Zoe Parker, journalist. They have quietly spit earlier this month, and it seems Cillian is back in the dating pool. Scroll below for pictures from the wild night - by order of the Peaky Blinders -

Zoe's heart was in her throat.

"First of all, all the peaky blinders references are annoying," she said out loud, to anyone who will hear her. She looked at Scout, who was by the door again. "It's corny, right?" she asked him.

Scout just stared at her, then back at the door. She rolled her eyes and let him out again.

"Second of all, who the hell is Lizzie Hughes??" She opened up a new tab and searched her name. Millions of pictures came up, with her mile long legs and green eyes staring back at Zoe. She clicked on a picture that brought her to her call card, that had her contact information for bookings.

managed by Hannah Woods, Elite Talent and Public Relations.

That's... odd.. Zoe thought. Maybe it's a small world?

Zoe went back to the article and took a deep breath, she was about to click through the photos.

At first they weren't too bad. All of them out, drinks in hand, having a good time.

But in every picture, Lizzie was there, right next to Cillian. In some pictures, he was leaning in close to her, assuming to hear her. At least, that's what Zoe wanted to believe.

As she clicked through, it seems like they all got drunker and Lizzie got more touchy with Cillian. She had her hand on his bicep, hand on his chest, hand on his back. Cillian... wasn't stopping it.

The pictures got worse.

They were all leaving, and bringing up the rear was Cillian and Lizzie, arm in arm. She was leaning heavy into him, and he was holding onto her tight.

Zoe slammed the laptop shut, tears in her eyes, face bright red.

These pictures are exactly like the ones of her and Cillian. She was so embarrassed, so angry, so hurt. This wasn't like him, AT ALL. She thought she knew him and he was better than this, was this NOT the Cillian that she got to know, the Cillian she opened up to, the one who she sat on the beach with all those days ago.

Am I that forgettable? She thought, letting tears roll down her cheeks.

She was interrupted by Scout barking at a squirrel outside. She glanced at the clock on the stove - she was running late.

Shit, she mumbled, wiping her tears. She got up and went upstairs, planning on throwing on whatever she could to make it to the office at a decent time. She couldn't think about this, not now... But she was planning on texting him when she got to work. And she planned on thinking about what to say the entire time before getting to her office.

xx

Cillian was sound asleep, with about 15 minutes left before his alarm would go off.

Hannah, however, was wide awake.

She had the key to his hotel room, and she quietly let herself in. Cillian was asleep in the bedroom, however his cell phone, wallet and keys were on the coffee table in the living room. Hannah walked over and grabbed his phone, entering the password and opening it up.

She knew the Daily Mail article hit in the US already, and she was certain Zoe would have said something to him by now.

Since the cast had a wild night last night, production for the day was delayed and Cillian didn't have to be on set until later that evening. This allowed him to sleep well into the afternoon, since they all didn't get home until about 4am.

Hannah opened up his phone and smiled, texts from the 2 people she needed texts from; Lizzie and Zoe.

Lizzie: Thanks for being so kind, Cillian! you're sound, looking forward to a good season! x

Hannah rolled her eyes. she left that one unread; he could see that one.

She took a breath and opened the one from Zoe; she was ready to go back and forth with her a little.

Zoe: Hey. I thought you said you were working? looks like you had fun last night. You could have just said you were going out to eat; who's that girl?

Hannah couldn't help but smirk. She began typing:

Cill: hi. didn't know i need to tell u my every waking move. went out to dinner. nbd.

Zoe responded almost immediately.

Zoe: ... you don't need to? I was just asking. I was looking forward to talking to you.

Cill: i know but i cant drop everything to talk to u. im working. i cant pick my schedule like u do. im busy.

Zoe: ... okay? is everything okay?

Cill: this is stressing me out. this schedule isn't working. how bout ill call u whenever im free. don't call me. i cant keep having my phone go off. just lemme call u. i luv u but u gotta let me work. please. Zoe: you're acting weird. can you please pick up your phone? I want to talk. Cill: i can't right now. ill call u later. everything im fine. im sorry. <3 u Zoe: i love you too...

Hannah was interrupted by Cillian's alarm going off. She quickly deleted the text message thread and placed his phone on the coffee table. She opened her work bag and grabbed some papers, making it seem like she was working or going over a schedule.

Cillian emerged a few minutes later, in sweatpants and a sweatshirt. He turned and looked at Hannah.

"I wanna die." Cillian said, squinting at Hannah.

"Welp, partying like you guys did last night will do that to ya," Hannah said, smiling, "Coffee?"

"Tea, please." Cillian mumbled, stretching his arms over his head. "What time is it?"

"A little past 2pm" Hannah said, not looking up from her papers.

"Fuck. I have a workout in half an hour, i feel like shit, and then we start at what, 5 tonight?" Cillian groaned, hand going to the back of his neck and rubbing it. Hannah nodded, confirming the start time. He sighed and made his way to the bathroom.

"I'm hopping in the shower, can you please text Zoe for me and tell her i'll call her later?" He yelled over his shoulder, grabbing a fresh towel and closing the bathroom door.

"Hannah laughed, biting her lip to keep the noise down. "Consider it done, Cill!" She yelled back.

"Consider it done!"

tags:

@lau219 @cillianinlove @vervainandspritz @supershadowymiraclestudent @borntodiemp3 @cillianmurphyvevo @shopgirl6us

[katyawriteswhump]

omega found, omega lost #4

Chapter 1 on tumblr Chapter 2 on tumblr Chapter 3 on tumblr On AO3

Title: Omega found, Omega lost; Chapter: 4/5; WC: 2356; Rating: E; Tags: Steddie, Omega Steve, Alpha Eddie, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, nightmares.

for whumptober prompts day 19: blood trail, abandoned cabin, one way out. day 20: emotional angst, and day 22: bleeding through bandages, day 26: nightmares, and day 27: voiceless (yes, whoops, that's a lot of whump!)

Chapter 4: "I have no mouth and I must scream"

Then came the shout: “Alpha—get away from the Omega. Come out now, and if he’s unharmed, we’ll spare you.”

Eddie jumped up, insides wrenching at the small distance between he and Steve, while Steve was so sick. He glanced around, loathing even to rip his eyes from the Omega.

Was there any other way out of the cabin? Could he somehow haul Steve over one shoulder and flee? He’d never wanted to be a clod-headed beefcake kind of Alpha. Right now, it could be helpful. If they could get out. He assessed only the one door and two windows, the closest of which was now shattered and letting in a sleety gale.

An impotent growl escaped him. He grabbed for his damp pants, hoiking them on. He might make it out alone, but he couldn’t leave Steve at the mercy of a baying pack. Even Steve’s own pack. Eddie trusted them less than ever. Was this it… was he gonna die?

All this streaked through his head in a few seconds. He’d not even started to properly lose his shit, before another shout boomed from outside:

“What the heck are you morons doing throwing rocks? What you gonna do next—burn the cabin down?”

Eddie recognised that rumbling voice. Jim Hopper, chief Alpha of the Hawkins pack. Yeah, Wayne always claimed he was a reasonable guy. The idea of handing over Steve to anyone, however trustworthy, gouged like a jackknife in Eddie’s gut. He dashed to the unbroken window, squatted down, and glanced out.

 A couple of Alphas—oh, yeah, and Steve’s Beta dad—prowled the thawing snow, carrying rifles and sticks.

Nope. No sneaking out that way.

“You gonna open this door, Alpha, or do I kick it down?” Hopper hammered on the flimsy wood.

“I’m coming.” No choice. No damn choice.

Eddie dragged his shirt on, slunk to the door, pulled the bolt aside. Hopper barged in, and Eddie stood his ground between the larger Alpha and Steve—shoulders squared, fists clenched, his lips peeling back from his gums and his incisor-fangs quickening. He expected the larger Alpha to grab him or go straight for Steve. He wasn’t sure how he was gonna defend the Omega, only that he must.

Should he really make a dash for that shard of glass and slash it at Hopper’s throat?

Hopper’s attention latched straight onto Steve, and he made no sudden move. He closed the door behind, before the rest of the pack could swarm in, which was unexpected: “Christ, tell me he’s alive, Munson.”

Eddie was stunned enough to let Hopper pass.

“Yeah, he’s… he’s alive, okay?” Eddie hurried back to Steve’s side. “I found him caught in a hunter’s trap, and he was bleeding and scared and really, really cold.” Christ, in the minute since he’d unwound his body from Steve’s, the Omega’s lips had turned a worrying shade of blue. “Look, you gotta get him to a hospital. The rest of your pack can…”

Eddie trailed off, mouth hanging open. Stop thinking like a knot-head Alpha and think like Eddie Munson.

He wasn’t gonna beg to be torn to pieces, especially for so little ends. That said, Hopper appeared to have no intention of chewing his head off, at least not literally. Eddie shoulders and spine sagged, and his head drooped: “How many of your goons are out there?”

“There’s a dozen Betas and three more Alphas, all howling for your blood.” Hopper huddled Steve in the blanket and scooped him up into his arms. Eddie bristled at his own helplessness and a tinge of jealousy. “We didn’t even need the blood trail to follow! He’s letting off scent like he’s gone into heat, and we scented you too. Did you knot him?”

“No! I swear on my life.” His sudden fear for Steve proved the most painful stab yet. “You can’t let them punish him, man.”

Hopper effortlessly jostled Steve up a little, so Steve's lolling head rested against his shoulder. “The Omega is the least of your problems, Alpha. If it wasn’t for your uncle, I’d rip your throat out myself, apart from… this is as much my damn fault as yours.” Huh? Eddie hadn’t been expecting that. Nor Hopper’s guilty glance down at Steve. “I should have kept him glued to my side last night. Look, you better get outta here pronto.”

“How?” Eddie flapped his arms around wildly, reverting to the feckless teen he’d been only a couple of years before. “There’s only one way out.”

Hopper chuckled dryly. “Your old man knew different when he hid out here. There’s a panel behind the stove.  Took me ages to figure how the crafty old dog gave me the slip. Go. Hide. I’ll draw them away. Make sure nobody torches the place.”

Eddie obeyed, hating it. What choice did he have? While he sensed Hopper had Steve’s best interests at heart, he churned with anger at the whole damn world, and at himself.

Fuck, he was such a terrible Alpha. This proved how unready he was for a soulmate, let alone fatherhood and shit.

He had to let Steve go. Others could take better care of him.

As he hauled aside the stove, he dared not glance over his shoulder, in case he shed an incriminatingly un-Alpha tear.

…

Steve had been sick and hurt. Of that part, he was sure. But he’d been okay.

Eddie’s warm scent and body had enveloped him. The brush of Eddie’s soft lips had comforted him. Then he’d been ripped from that safe cocoon and hurled straight into Hell.

Barbed fangs glinted in an inky blackness, and the beast pounced, fangs piercing deep into Steve’s leg. It lifted him in its jaws and shook him violently, before smashing him into the icy ground, a hunk of dying meat.

He couldn’t hear his own scream after scream after scream. The exposed nerves and tendons in his ankle screamed louder, mocking his silence. The stench of his blood clotted in his nose and clogged up his throat, already shredded by his useless cries and thickened by terror.

Can’t breathe… can’t… can’t…dying… dying… dead? Eddie… Alpha... Please help me… It hurts… Eddieeeeee!

A wall of darkness slammed down. He floated, lost, mercifully senseless. When the dreams kicked off again, they weren’t all so bad. He was in a dingy cellar, chained to a damp brick wall, and… Okay, this was exactly how Tommy H claimed he’d wind up, some rogue Alpha’s plaything.

Steve was fiiiine with it.

Eddie was there, his body slamming Steve’s flush to the bricks. He nuzzled Steve’s throat tenderly, dragging his tongue over Steve’s mating gland. Steve’s every sinew strained toward him, trying to purr and rub into him. He couldn’t glean Eddie’s delicious scent. Violent shudders dragged him back from the cusp of getting slick.

“Eddie?” he whimpered. “Eddie, please? Where are you?”

When Steve finally opened his eyes for real, he squeezed them tight again before daring to peep.

He was in a hospital room. He’d gotten an IV drip attached to his arm, and other scary wires had been attached to his chest, poking out of his hospital gown. His heart lurched, and a green line spiked on a bedside monitor.

How did he get here? Last thing he recalled was Eddie… the cabin… Oh, Christ, what was real and what wasn’t? His head throbbed so hard he feared his skull would crack, and his stomach felt like somebody had punched it.

“Eddie,” he croaked, though nobody was around to hear. “Eddie.”

The next time he stirred, daylight stung his eyes. His mom stood at the door, talking to a doctor, “Mom?” he whispered. She didn’t turn her head. “Mommy?” Okay, that was shameful. “Please… mom? Where’s Eddie?”

His voice couldn’t compete with the penetrating hum of the strip-light.

I’m an Omega, not a pushover.

Yeah. Right.

Holy crap, he couldn’t leave the house alone without screwing up, bigtime, and his voice was little better than that of a ghost’s. Tuning into the doctor’s conversation didn’t exactly help:

“Mrs Harrington, you must understand—your son bled through bundles of fresh bandages after we brought him in, which made little sense. When he was found, he was sick, but his injuries had started to heal. He was never hyperthermic, yet he GOT WORSE. The bleeding has finally stopped, but his vitals have never stabilised.”

“Could he be pregnant, Doctor? Should I book him into an Omega Clinic?”

“It’s hard to tell with Omegas. I wouldn’t want to subject him to any invasive examination, let alone have him moved while he’s so sick.”

“But…”

With pup?

Steve’s blood simmered beneath his clammy cheeks.

And now his mother talked of the Omega clinic. Would she really dump him in that horrible place again, though they’d had to drug him to the eyeballs to survive it? And why, oh why, must he picture Tommy H, cackling in his face?

Did my soulmate fuck me and ditch me? Or was the whole soulmates BS all in my ‘air-brain little head’? Did Eddie knot me and skip town?

Okay, he’d literally been asking for it. He’d begged Eddie for dick and opened his legs to him like a ‘wanton little hussy.’

Was Tommy right about him? Tommy was right! His mom, too?

“I’m no Omega specialist,” the doctor was saying. “However, at this stage, the best remedy may be to find this rogue Alpha your son has been crying out for.”

“Yes. Hunt down that lowlife dog and destroy him for ruining my son.”

Steve’s panic ripped through him like a floodtide. His shallow breaths refused to sooth his clenching lungs, and his skin broke out into a cold sweat. By the time the doctor’s attention slid his way, he was full-on flipping out.

The next few moments passed in a terrifying blur. He fought the suffocating blankets and yanked the wires from his arm and torso, before more than one set of strong hands pinned him down. A sharp prick on his arm was echoed by the cool glide of a needle into his skin. Cool air flowed from the mask placed over his face. He drifted into dreams and that murky basement, wandering it like a spirit.

“Eddie,” he murmured, “Where are you?”

…

Three days.

Three fucking days.

That was how long Eddie had skulked in this dingy brick basement—pacing to keep warm, punching the bricks, wringing his battered hands, and all but ripping his hair out. He’d passed hours squatting in a corner, holding his drooping head.

Christ, he should get the fuck out of Dodge.

Perhaps distance could kill this agony. This crushing misery at knowing Steve was dangerously ill and being unable to see him, let alone do anything about it.

Yet Eddie wasn’t going anywhere, which was lunacy. None of his designs for life included mating a high-class Omega who’d grown up, basically, in a palace. Oh, and Steve’s mom had put a price on his head.

Ten thousand dollars. Dead or Alive. Seriously, where was he living—the Old West? Medieval Europe?

“Why me?” Eddie was muttering, over and over. The soft tap on the basement door set him snarling.

Okay, it was his and Wayne’s secret knock, based on an old Def Leppard guitar riff. Damn, Eddie was skittish as a goddamn Omega. Wayne descended the rickety wooden stairs, and Eddie leaped up, sweeping his heavy unwashed hair from his eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Had a visit from Hop and Steve’s dad.”

“Shit!” Eddie buried all eight fingers in his uncombed tresses. “Did they follow you here?”

“What sorta fool do you take me for, son?” Wayne chuckled, squeezing Eddie’s super-taut bicep. Eddie teetered suddenly on the brink of throwing his arms around his uncle and bawling his eyes out. Anything to release the tension thrumming through his every vein. “Wouldn’t have mattered if they did. Hop talks the talk about ripping your throat out, nothing more. I swear to God, he begged for your help.”

Eddie met Hopper around the back of the hospital, near a delivery entrance for the kitchens. On sighting him, Eddie stopped dead, smacked his boot heel loudly onto the ice-hardened asphalt.  

The older Alpha’s lips peeled back, hostile vibes billowing from him. Then Hopper pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned:

“Okay, Munson, stand down.” He hurled some scrubs at Eddie. “Gonna smuggle you in. Apparently, your Omega pepped up no end on learning we were trying to contact you on the sly. Even the docs are bleating on about the soulmate bond—it’s the worst case of rejection sickness in living memory. So, yeah, let’s move. We’ll deal with the nuclear fallout in the morning.”

Eddie pulled on the scrubs and tied back his hair, using a scrunchie he was pretty sure Hop had swiped off his daughter. He followed the Chief through the quiet corridors, struggling to get his head together.

Soulmate bond. Rejection sickness. Some doctor had more or less prescribed Eddie as a cure? He snatched a swift, fortifying breath.

You got this, Munson. Make your Omega well again, and everything else is gonna be child’s play…

…hahaha, seriously? You gonna rob a bank or something?

Screw it. Perhaps he would.

After they’d passed through the dark kitchens, Eddie sensed something off. He’d smelled Steve over a mile off in a snowy forest, and yet… Okay, maybe that was Steve’s musk he detected, heavily interwoven with others,’ and faint beneath the tang of chemicals.

It was way too faint and soured with a bitter tang that set Eddie’s guts flipping.

He shoved past Hopper and sprinted up the corridor. He followed his nose up several flights of stairs. Along a dark corridor, he almost collided with an angry nurse, then he rounded a corner and slammed into Steve’s dad. Eddie braced the Beta and shook him, taken aback by huge, scared hazel-brown eyes, startlingly like Steve’s: “What is it? Is Steve okay?”

“I-I don’t know. He’d been on the mend since I promised to find you. I came over to break the news you were on your way… and he’s gone and discharged himself.”

...

Chapter 5.1 (it's gonna be fine, okay!?!)

Please like and reblog if you’re feeling kind 🥰 it’s so very much appreciated ❤️

tags: @wheneverfeasible @mugloversonly @ellietheasexylibrarian

@strawberryyyenthusiast @stripey82

If anybody else fancies reading more, I would be happy to tag :) Or follow #katya's omega whump

My endless outpourings of Steve whump can be found on AO3 here :)

[builtaworldwithyourlove]

I Forget Where We Were

1.5k/ joel miller x f!reader / MINORS DNI 

summary: life with Joel from the start. Be kind please- this is my first piece and has taken 6 months of courage🤍

Chapter Eight: End Of The Affair

Living without her, living at all, seems to slow me down.

what to expect: Joel cuts Mia off and things are getting intense.

warnings: bad language i guess idk?😂fluff, dad!joel,lover boy joel, no specific physical description of reader, female reader (please let me know if there is anything I’m missing, I will elaborate as the series goes on) no outbreak, age gap (reader is mid 20s and Joel is mid 40s), boyfriend!joel? i repeat boyfriend!joel, angst, another woman but relax guys, Daddy Joel loves you and things will be okay, onwards and upwards, things back on track, mention of smoking and drinking, bathtime naughtiness.

    · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

The morning passed in silence, you sat out on the porch reading, and Joel smoked whilst he rubbed your feet.

‘Can you drop me home so I can get ready before we take Sarah out? I’ll drive back over and stay tonight?’ your voice squeaked, far too timid and afraid to be disconcerting.

Joel looked up at you and his cheeks hollowed as he inhaled a drag of smoke. His eyes seemed to glimmer with hope as he held onto the fact you still wanted to come back to him.

He blew the smoke away from your face, and he dragged you onto his lap as you kissed him, breathing in the taste of coffee and tobacco. Your favourite smell in the world, as it reminded you of Joel, who felt like home.

‘Sure, baby. You feeling okay?’ he frowned at you.

‘Yeah, I’m good. I just want to have a reset, and don’t think underwear and your old t shirts are a great start’ the receipt of the joke and lightheartedness was uncertain, but Joel chuckled and your heart skipped a beat.

This may all work out, you thought.

    · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

You got home, and Joel went to pick Sarah up. You showered the events of last night away, and put on a black sundress. You did your hair and makeup and drenched yourself in Joel’s favourite perfume of yours

You texted him to let him know you were stopping off at the shop but you’d be over in 30 minutes.

He sent you a picture of Sarah holding a new princess doll, and he mentioned how she reminded Sarah of you. 

You smiled to yourself and rushed over.

   · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Sarah came flying into your arms and she said she missed you so much. You gave Joel a bottle of red wine and a bag of ingredients for dinner, he kissed your forehead and caressed your waist and hips before putting everything away in the kitchen.

‘Daddy’s got some surprises for us tonight, but he won’t tell us what. He said he has some building to do at Uncle Tommy’s then we’ll find out.’ Sarah shrugged her shoulders and sighed.

‘Hmm…. Why don’t we go and unpack your stuff from your sleepover, and then why don’t we go to the garden store whilst we wait for Daddy to get home?’ You crouched down and tried to negotiate with Sarah. 8 year olds are a tough crowd.

‘Baby, you mind watching Roo for an hour while I help Tommy out?’ Joel shouted from the kitchen.

‘Sure babe. We’ve made some plans of our own anyway.’ Sarah’s face lit up as you winked at her, and she bolted up the stairs.

You kissed Joel goodbye and he gave you some laundry which you offered to do for him. As you cleared out the pockets, you found a receipt for a locksmith and a charge for a spare key, and also a business card for a local realtor. This was bittersweet as it was dated the day after you saw the first text from Mia, and you realised how serious Joel was about you. 

You soon forgot about the discovery and anticipation of receiving a spare key, as Sarah kept you on your toes for the rest of the afternoon.

   · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Joel got home and showered whilst you helped Sarah get ready. Joel said he was going to take you both shopping, ice cream and to the local fair.

Sarah picked out new princess dresses and hair accessories, including bows, just like the ones your wore all the time. She also picked out new sunglasse because she wanted to look grown up in the car like you did. 

Sarah had you all in stitches, and she held your hand the whole way through the shops. You had driven to the mall, you let Sarah have her ice cream in her car seat, which Daddy would never let her do. Joel was exasperated and eventually gave up trying to keep you both in check.

‘Is it time for the fair yet?’ asked Sarah, high on sugar and excitement.

‘Everytime you ask, we end up taking five minutes longer. I don’t make the rules.’ Joel antagonised Sarah and you tried to keep the peace by going the quick way home. Your thigh was on display, and Joel rubbed his thumb up and down it the , whilst you put your hand on top of his.

    · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

It was hometime and Sarah fell asleep in the car, after countless goes on the Ferris Wheel and winning just short of 10 stuffed teddies.

Joel sang cheesy love songs to you, the whole way home, and you couldn’t believe you were loved by someone like him, even with things being rough lately.

He carried Sarah up to bed, and you went into the kitchen to heat a pan for dinner. Joel sat up at the bar and watched you dancing barefoot on the tiled floor. You went to open the wine you brought round, but Joel snatched it off you and replaced it with the one he hid behind his back.

‘Joel, that’s exactly the same. Is everything okay at home?’ Confused, you let Joel finish his bit.

‘Look at it’ Joel offered like a cat dropping a mouse at their owner’s feet.

It was your favourite red wine, with a pink collar and, a piece of string with a key on it, hanging on the neck and a business card paper clipped to the string.

‘Tomorrow we’re buying Sarah a kitten, for the house that you’re moving into, and after we can call the realtor to help you sell your place. I want you here with me for the rest of my life. You& Sarah together make this house a home. I don’t want or need anyone else but my family. I know how shit the last few days have been, but I promise. Mia is nothing. I told her last night I never want to see her again. She knows I’m with you& that’s it. Full transparency from now on.’

A tidal wave of emotions swept you under, then the water carried you back to shore as you tried to process everything. You felt as if  you had over reacted about the text, but Joel knew he was in the wrong for how things panned out. He had done all he could to apologise and knew he now had to prove himself to you. This was the next best step towards showing you his devotion.

Like a baby, you held onto him and cried. You were so excited and so thankful for this, and couldn’t wait for the next step. You added the key to your keyring, put the collar on the keyhook by the front door and saved the realtor’s number in your phone.

    · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Tipsy and full of love, you and Joel slowdanced round the kitchen after dinner, singing along to your songs and sharing a tender moment which would be a core memory for the start of forever.

You tidied up, and Joel sat down to watch the football.

He had stopped and bought you some bath stuff for at his, knowing you only had a shower at your place. You made the most of this and drew a hot bath with bath salts, essential oils and bubbles. Paolo Nutini echoed quietly on the speakers through the candlelight. The door creaked open, and Joel walked in, slowly undressing. He slotted in behind you, and you sat between his legs. He grabbed the bath oils and massaged them into your chest and your legs. You turned on your stomach to face him, and he tenderly, but hungrily, kissed you.

He emptied some of the bathwater out after rinsing you with fresh warm water. You slid down his thighs, now straddling him as he kissed down your chest and grabbed handfuls of your hips, soft and supple from the bath.

You were wet and warm, covered in goosebumps from Joel’s touch, and he was harder than you had seen before. He leaned you back againt his bent legs, and he thrusted into you. The sensation of him hitting your cervix made your eyes roll back, and as you grinded against him, the orgasm waved over you.

Joel struggled to last, so wrapped up in your warm body, and desperate to make you feel good. He held you close and he finished with you tight to him.

‘Ready for film night baby?’ Joel smirked, feeling pretty proud of himself.

‘Only if you can handle it, old man’ You knocked him back down a peg as you finished your skin care and got dressed in your pyjamas.

Another bottle of wine, and half of a 2/10 rated scary movie later, Joel was asleep with his head in your lap, and you were sleeping peacefully, feeling light and lucky and positive.

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

[riptideripley]

Chapter One of: Addicted.

word count: 1,196

Ever since they first met Roman had been hooked. Seth had this spark to him that Roman felt like he could get high off of. June 2nd 2014 replays in his head every day and he just couldn’t stop it. Liv and Rhea worked through their issues so why couldn’t Seth do the same with him?

Friday rolled around and it was about time for the promo segment they had. Seth was sitting in his dressing room when the door opened, revealing Roman.

“Long time no see.”

“Yeah.”

The small talk happened often between the two, they seemed to never be able to get over what happened a whole decade ago. But only when Roman needed..him was when they would actually “talk”. They last time they found themselves “having a conversation” ended in them fucking in Roman’s hotel room.

“What do you need now Ro? Is it Rhea or..-”

“No it’s not her and it never will be. Just wanted to..check on you I guess.” he confessed, not daring to make eye contact with Seth. Truth be told he was actually nervous around Seth due to him being the only one to see him so vulnerable.

“I see..why don’t you close the door and come have a seat hm? We have 20 minutes to spare.” Seth spoke to which Roman obliged and sat down on the black leather couch.He didn’t speak, just sat there trying to form his words before he said something stupid. “Heard about you and Rhea last week, everyone was talking about it. You know you two really have to work that whole shit out before the whole world knows.” Seth broke the silence which quickly reminded Roman of what happened the week before.

Flashback.

“Rhea you know that wasn’t supposed to happen. I swear I didn’t mean f-“ “BULLSHIT. You swore no one and I mean absolutely no one would find out about that yet here comes Jimmy throwing the shit in my face!” The two went back and forth. What were they arguing about, you may ask? Well to cut shit short they hooked up after Rhea retained her championship at Elimination Chamber. They swore up and down it meant nothing to them but god knows they were both wrong.

“Rhea I’m sorry ok? He must’ve saw the messages in my phone ok just-“ “No Roman that’s bullshit. Why the fuck would he even have your phone?!”

“HEY! Can you two knock it off? People are looking. Take this somewhere private for fucks sake” Dominik finally spoke, having enough of them bickering. The two looked at him and looked at each other, choosing to go into her dressing room to talk.

End of Flashback.

“Yeah..we’re trying, she’s still mad at me and rightfully so.” “I mean I would expect her to be, you swore to keep it private but let your idiot cousin ruin it” Roman sighed and nodded at his words. Letting his head fall into his hands he sat there, not really knowing how to take in all of the stuff he’s been dealing with. Seth stood up from his chair and sat next to him, placing his hand on his thigh.

“Look Ro. Try talking to her next week alright? Now cmon we don’t have much time before the segment and you know how long your cousin takes.” he cracked a joke that made Roman laugh, I mean he was right cause my god did Rock take forever.

Fast Forward.

Everything was going fine in the segment..until Roman grabbed the mic. The second the words “crossdresser” left his lips, Seth’s mood completely changed. At first Seth could not even believe what the fuck he was hearing and then it hit him what Roman actually said. He knew Roman would definitely be paying for that later.

Hour and ½ later

“Seth you know I didn’t mean it just please-“

“No Roman I don’t want to hear it. That’s what you wanna call me now really? Oh just the other night you were calling me d-“

“OK! Jesus I get it. Look I said sorry ok?”

“Don’t wanna hear it. Meet me in my room got it?” “..Alright.”

20 Minutes Later.

“Seth can you- not tease like that..” Roman breathed out with a slight whine, being teased by Seth for 5 fucking minutes that felt like an eternity. “Someone is needy tonight huh pretty boy?” Seth chuckled out, finally giving into what Roman wanted. “Damn near didn’t need any l..lube.” Seth breathed out as he eased himself inside. Roman’s breath hitched as he gripped onto the sheets in front of him. He attempted to reach back to hold Seth’s hand but was quickly slapped. “No touching. For me to be a crossdresser you know..you seem more like the type.” he spoke with a small laugh at the end, not wasting his time as he began thrusting at a rough pace.

Roman’s body damn near fell forward if it wasn’t for Seth holding him up by his waist, with all the teasing he went through on the way to the room and during those 5 minutes he was sensitive. “S- Seth-“ Roman choked out, already feeling like he was getting close with the insane pace Seth was going at. “Cmon pretty boy..you know that’s not my name.”

“f..fuck. please daddy” he finally whined out making Seth smile. “That’s more like it..” he chuckled out, lifting one of Roman’s legs over his shoulder. The position was nothing new for the two but it always made Roman let out the sluttiest high pitched moan you could ever think of. Roman was a babbling mess at this moment, unable to even form a proper sentence. “c..close” he built up the courage to whine out. “Fine pretty boy.. let go for me” and with those exact words, he came. Seth wasn’t far behind and before Roman could even process everything, Seth pulled out and flipped him around.

“You know what to do.” Oh he definitely knew.

15 minutes later.

“Roro..Cmon get up big boy” Seth sighed as he lifted Roman up off the bed, sitting him up straight to wipe his entire body down. Roman just sighed and rested his head against Seth’s shoulder.

“You going back to your room”

“Yeah..just give me a minute.”

Seth nodded and let him down carefully to lay there, placing his clothes in a pile on the chair next to the bed(it wasn’t there before🌚). Seth went to the bathroom and got a wet towel, leaning down to clean up some spots off the floor.

Roman sat up and slowly put his clothes on, not really speaking to Seth. This happened often between them, they would just fuck and not speak. It pained him but he would never mention it. Seth watched as Roman grabbed his stuff off the night stand and walked to the door.

“Hey..make sure to call me tomorrow alright? I have something planned for you.” Seth spoke as Roman opened the door making him stop.

What in the entire fuck was Seth planning??

“Yeah..alright.” he responded and walked out the door.

[everythingisawayoflife]

MORE Random West Wing Headcanons bc I said so

i’ve gotten back into the show recently (esp bc i understand all the politics and crap) and i feel the need to talk about my favorite dysfunctional political administration

in the first post i made, i said ainsley and sam dated for two years before breaking up. well that breakup didn’t last very long. a month later, they started dating again. from that point, on they never left each others side. they live in georgetown with a rottweiler and four kids.

after being really involved in solving a finance crisis, josh was invited to throw the first pitch at the Mets game. when the camera zoomed in on him, he was visibly emotional.

donna was over at josh’s apartment so much during his recovery period, they’ve begun to have weekly movie nights. they continue this tradition even after marriage and kids.

josh and donna’s house has a wall in the hallway of their house when you first enter that is covered with their kids’ handprints - at first, it was just their oldest being naughty but they let it grow into the Moss-Lyman art exhibit. even sam and ainsley’s kids, and toby and andy’s kids have added their prints to the wall

there’s a weekend every summer where all of senior staff and their families come up to Manchester and stay on the Bartlet Farm at Abbey’s insistence - she wears the title of “Grandma Abbey” proudly

at the inaugural ball (aka s4 josh & donna), josh and donna spend so much time together that a lot of the people there going to congratulate josh on getting bartlet’s second term mistake josh and donna for husband and wife - as a joke, donna and josh let people believe it

^^they end up getting quite the talking to from abbey - because she’s mad they didn’t tell her first (and cj, who has to field press questions the next day and they almost caused a domestic incident)

as an april fools day prank, zoey and charlie covered bartlet’s walls in the oval office with sticky notes - sam helped and wrote a “your mama” joke in latin as payback for bartlet having fun with the staff

josh has a terrible habit of biting the skin around his nails until they bleed - he doesn’t realize how bad it is until he turns some papers into the president with large drops of blood on them - donna keeps spare bandaids at her desk

toby likes to have a little fun with donna and say things to deliberately get a reaction out of her - some are truths, some are lies. one truth is that he likes beans on toast. donna called him clinically insane.

leo really likes musicals. can he sing? hardly ever. but on days he finds he needs to relax, he puts on the original cast recording of oklahoma and everything turns out okay

donna unofficially adopts a sickly kitten that lived in the trash near her apartment - she names it Brownie and nurses it back to health

^^Josh is allergic to Brownie but doesn’t say a word to Donna until after they’ve been married and had kids when they reach the age where they start asking for pets

Donna is sort of a multiple-threat kind of girl - she was an excitable kid so she grew up knowing how to do all kinds of things - these things are tap dance for seven years, karate for two years, horseback riding has been the only constant in her life, she can knit and sew, and she even speaks a little french - josh LOVES it when Donna speaks french

josh is always cold, he’s never run warm. donna knit a blanket for him as a birthday present. he’s never said anything but it’s one his favorite things in the whole world

donna actually likes hearing some of the president’s obscure historical tidbits - she even goes so far as to learning some of her own to exchange with him

toby visits the veteran’s grave that he buried every year and even talks to him a little while he’s there

it took a solid 20 minutes after donna had their first kid to let someone else hold him besides josh. the third person to hold their kid was bartlet.

^^^donna has never seen josh more in love than when he held their kid for the first time. cj took a photo of josh gazing at the little baby swaddled in blue clothing with visible tears streaking down his face. it’s one of donna’s favorite photos.

Sam is really good at hockey. He takes his kids to hockey games whenever he can.

[yankstrash]

it isn't uncommon for hockey girlfriends to dread development camp over the summer

for a lot of girls, this it the time where their boyfriends have to join their team in another state or worse, in another country, for the teams dev camp, meaning time spent far away from them and a hectic schedule for the boys

however, if you're amelia, you look forward to this time

because dev camp for gabe is a short 20 minute drive from amelias parents house, where she spends her summer break

how perfect is that.

her week is perfectly planned out

she wakes up, with gabe beside her.

goes to dev camp, with gabe on the ice in front of her.

lays by the pool, with gabe rubbing tanning lotion on her.

and falls asleep, with gabe on top of her.

each day is like the last, and amelia wouldn't have it any other way.

her boyfriend gets to attend dev camp for his future nhl team 20 minutes away from where amelia grew up and lives over the summer

thank you rangers for drafting gabriel.

after camp ended today, gabe drove back to amelias house, where a home cooked meal made by her mom was waiting for him

he was no doubt her future son in law, and both of her parents loved gabe like he was their own, so they were more than happy to host and cater to him while he was working hard at camp

"gabe how was camp." amelias mom asks as gabe eats the dinner she prepared for the family while he was gone

amelia was about to open her mouth and ask the same question, but just like every night he's been here, her parents beat her to it.

gabe smiles, "it was good, i like my teammates a lot. we have a scrimmage tomorrow which i'm excited for."

amelias mom nods, "i heard, drews mom told me about that. i invited them over for dinner tomorrow after you boys have your scrimmage. it's been too long since we've had a family dinner with them."

amelia smiles at the mention of that

it has been too long.

not only does amelia get her boyfriend while he's at dev camp, she also gets her childhood best friend drew, whose families house is just down the street from hers

drew came over yesterday after camp to go swimming, and amelia got her fulfill of entertainment watching the two boys push each other into the pool and argue over whose team is going to win in the scrimmage

amelia reaches her hand over and drags her nails up and down gabes back in a soothing manner as he eats

"just don't get too buddy buddy with your ranger teammates and decide you'd rather be with them than in boston for another year with me." she jokes, only a hint of seriousness in her voice

gabe smiles over at her, shaking his head

"you know that's not happening, baby. my mind has been made up even before i got to bc last august."

amelia nods, knowing he's right

gabe has always known he wants to play at least 2 years of college before going pro

even if he wanted to leave now, it's no guarantee he would even make the rangers roster, so why rush anything

she nods, "i know i know, just saying.."

"that's right gabriel, stay put. spare me a few more years before i have to see my daughter in a rangers jersey, please." amelias dad says as he walks into the kitchen, giving gabe a pat on the shoulder

"dad." amelia gives him a look, but he and gabe just laugh

"what? it'a a valid point."

gabe looks at his girlfriend and shrugs, "it is."

"it's not. but if it will keep him in boston, then sure. spare him, gabriel."

her dad smiles, patting gabe again, "all good, the isles got eiserman in the draft. we'll be fine."

amelia grins at the mention of his name knowing what gabes current facial expression is

and she's right as she eyes her boyfriend at the exact moment he's rolling his eyes and shaking his head

"god bless cole eiserman, dad."

"no. not god bless cole amelia stealing eiserman."

amelia laughs at gabes complaints

eisy is her little munchkin, and gabe hates the ginormous crush he has on her, even though it's the most harmless crush ever

he really only flirts with meels to annoy gabe, and it works everytime

"you really let that kid get under your skin, babe." amelia says, rubbing gabes arm

he groans and rolls his eyes, "he's a shit."

"he's a kid. my kid."

"he's our rival."

"you love him."

"no.. sometimes. on occasion."

~

gabe and amelia laid in bed that night while he let out his anxious thoughts about tomorrows scrimmage

"i don't even know why i'm so nervous, it's not like i'm trying to make the team this year. but still... next year. or the year after." he says as he buries his head in amelias neck "i just hope they still think i'm as good as when they drafted me."

amelia chuckles lightly, rubbing her boyfriends back and playing with his hair

"baby, if anything they're going to think you're better than when they drafted you. you took a huge leap your first year at bc and it definitely did not go unnoticed by them, trust me."

"i don't know.. i didn't even make top 10 for hobey finalists."

"well you and i both know that was a load of crap that you didn't, and i'm sure they do too. and who cares. that shouldn't have an impact on what they think of you."

"it matters."

"not that much."

"meels."

"gabriel.. go to sleep. you have a big day tomorrow."

like always, gabe listens to his girlfriend.

like always.

~

the next day, amelia sat with her mom and dad along with drews family at the scrimmage

it was like she was back in grade school watching her best friends hockey games with both of their families in the stands

only now, she got to watch her best friend and her boyfriend

what a lucky, lucky girl.

"mee mee do you have your drew fat head ready for this season?!" drews mom leans over and asks

amelias cheeks redden at the memory of her bringing a gigantic drew fathead to his games when they were younger

"oh we kept that, it's tucked away somewhere. i'll have to dig it out." amelias mom says with a huge smile

"orrrr it can stay tucked away." amelia says

"no no, i think it needs to be brought out, and a gabe one needs to be made too. we need all the encouragement we can get this season as the boys make a second run for a natty."

sometimes, the mention of the natty still makes amelias chest ache. while it's a distant memory at this point, amelia still can't seem to shake the look on her boyfriends face when she saw him after their loss to denver.

she had never seen him look so defeated

he had never been so defeated since meeting her

the closest he had been was when bc lost to bu in the beanpot, but even the look on his face after that game didn't pale in comparison to the look on his face after they lost the national championship

it was hard for her to see, and still hard for her to think about, but the boys are loaded and ready for a second shot at it this year, even with the losses the team took since the season ended

at the thought of that, amelia snaps a pic of the rink and sends it to her buddy smitty

from: meels

"the two knuckleheads are on opposing teams." she writes after the picture

he replies in seconds

from: smitty

"oh boy... what does the loser get?"

from: meels

"kicked into the pool later and an embarrassing story told about them at dinner."

from: smitty:

"yikes... sad i'm missing it. miss them and you."

from: meels

"miss you nerd. how was your dev camp?"

from: smitty

"a lot of fun, actually. i'm excited for this year."

from: meels

"good. i'll send you another pic at the natty."

from: smitty

"i will be there watching, dw."

from: meels

"too bad you won't be playing when they win."

from: smitty

"hardy har har. maybe i'll coach."

from: meels

"no thanks, we wanna win."

from: smitty

"🗿. i do not miss you."

from: meels

"ditto, loser... ❤️"

~

the scrimmage ended with gabes team winning, earning him bragging rights over drew

once the boys were showered and changed, everybody went back to amelias house and had dinner

after dinner they all had a fire outside

amelia sat comfortably in gabes lap, snuggled under a blanket and swallowed up by his hoodie

"less than a month left until she leaves us again." amelias mom looks over at meels and pouts her bottom lip "the summer is flying by."

amelia can't help but grin to herself at the mention of going back to school soon

she adores her parents and loves being home, but she is so excited to be back at school in boston with all of her friends and her boyfriend

if sophomore year is anything like freshman year, she's in for round two of one hell of a good time

soon, they will all be back together at bc

minus a few, but she is still so excited

amelia rolls her eyes playfully, "mom, i'm only a few hours away."

"i know i know.. and you love boston. i'm so glad you feel at home there."

amelia smiles, then directs the smile up at her boyfriend

"i do." she says barely above a whisper

gabe smiles back, leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on her lips then one on her forehead

"can't wait for a whole nother year of this." he whispers to her

"me too... and lucky me getting to have you so close to me during this week in the summer too."

"aren't you a lucky girl, amelia grace."

"i am."

[keyotos]

hello! i saw your music event post and i wanted to request a welt fic about him and the readers first kiss, id also like lover by taylor swift to be the song paired with it. no pressure and i hope you have a good day :)

have i known you 20 seconds, or 20 years?

summary ⎯ anxious and anticipating: that's how you felt when welt yang was around you. you knew there was something in the air between you two, but you just didn't know when you were going to confront it. not until now, anyway.

tags ⎯ first kiss scenario. pining. no angst!!!!!!!

tana's words ⎯ thank you for requesting!! hope you enjoy.

keyotos music event

you haven't seen welt all day. not once in the morning, not once in the afternoon, not once in the evening. it was getting worrying at this point: where could he be if not the astral express. if stelle, march, and dan heng were all back on the ship, where could welt be?

you've been waiting in the lobby for hours. when anyone (himiko and march) asked you about it, you just said you liked lounging in the lobby. you didn't. you were just waiting for welt to return back. it sounded pathetic, and to some extent it was pathetic, but in this case it was rather urgent for welt to be back on the ship.

you see, the other day, while still on the luofu, welt had said something over the phone. it sounded like thought that was meant to be kept in, but slipped out anyway. it was private, secret, and probably not meant for you.

"i can't wait to see you again," he muttered in a tired daze. welt was too exhausted to even realize what he just said. it was until you muttered a few words to yourself (in awe), that welt registered his secret confession.

you always knew there was something going on with you and welt. even if it was unsaid, you knew there was at least something in the air. was it admiration? awe? or maybe, and this is a stretch, love?

with that, welt apologized profusely, even when you reassured him that it was okay. but the tension between you two remained. you two still communicated, however it felt more strained than before. and now, welt was nowhere to be seen.

"is he dead or something?" you mumbled whilst picking fluff off of the couch. this behavior was not unnoticed, especially by himiko.

"thinking about welt?" she asked, teasingly raising an eyebrow.

"more like worrying," you huffed, "is he planning to stay there forever?"

himiko narrowed her eyes, studying your expression. your lips were slightly pouted and you looked extremely bored. she wondered why you looked so troubled. surely you would've seen welt's text from earlier, right? unless he had said something wrong, then himiko would have to chide him.

"didn't you see his text?" himiko asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"what text?" your eyebrows shot up. you checked your phone, realizing it had died. oh. "my phone died..."

"yeah," himiko winced. this was one of the worst cases of miscommunication she's seen in a while.

"how long ago was the text?" you threw your phone in your pocket, attention fully glued on himiko.

"ten minutes ago? maybe fifteen?"

oh. that means you probably left welt on delivered for more than a few minutes. troubling on his end, but it did make for good payback. after all, he did leave you on "delivered" for a good portion of the day.

"do you know what he said?" you peered over himiko's shoulder, looking at her messages. he sent himiko one text. very vague, no details.

tell yn to meet me in exalting sanctum.

well. that sounds very ominous. either way, you were dying to get some answers from welt. where has he been the entire day? what has he been doing? what were you two? the last one was probably not as important as the first though. whatever it was, you bid goodbye to himiko and made your way down to the exalting sanctum.

luckily, welt spared you the difficulty of navigating your way through exalting sanctum. he was waiting for you in the middle of town, repeatedly checking his watch and checking his surroundings. when he noticed you walking up to him, you saw how he straightened his posture and cleared his throat.

"sorry i didn't get your text. my phone was dead," you started off. you sounded so peaceful and nonchalant when you said the first half of your sentence. the next half goes as follows, "where the hell where you all day!" you slapped his shoulder, "you had me worried. i thought you died. i wish you had died instead of sending me that super ominous text."

"didn't you say your phone died?" welt teased.

"okay, well, himiko. but the message was directed to me," you flicked his shoulder. "but seriously, where the hell were you today? i was getting worried."

you missed the blush welt wore on his face when you told him you were worried about him. he hid it, placing his glasses lower down his face, "i had a surprise made for you."

your eyes widened, "surprise?" your face scrunched up, "i didn't need a surprise?"

"you know yn, you shouldn't argue with the man who's giving you a surprise," welt jokingly shook his head.

"okay, well, surprises can be good or bad. how am i supposed to know if it was a good one?" you retorted.

"because i'd never do anything to hurt you," welt started walking, back turned towards you.

you sped up, "okay, fine, whatever. let's go," you looped your arm around his. welt tried to ignore the fluttery feeling in his stomach due to your close contact. his attempts at ignoring his feelings ended up unsuccessful.

welt lead you somewhere quiet and serene. it was quite contrary to the bustling and busy plaza of the exalting sanctum. the scenery was gorgeous; beautiful trees with flowers and colored leaves; fish in ponds; lotus flowers blooming all over the water. you two have been on countless trailblazing missions, but none can top the scenery of the xianzhou luofu.

and then you realized it. the waiting for you, the scenery, the surprise. was this a date? or at least something romantic? and with what welt had said a few days earlier: had he come to realize his feelings as well? is this really happening? out of welt's sight, you pinched yourself in case this was a dream. it was not.

"wow," you said in awe. your eyes wandered around the location. you were aimlessly walking around. in a second, you lost your footing, nearly falling into the water. if it weren't were welt catching you, holding you, you would've fell into the water. his hands were on your neck and waist, carefully holding you over the water.

once you regain your footing, welt let go (much to your dismay). he cleared his throat and straightened himself up again. he was nervous, and you were too (now that you've realized).

"i have something i would like to say," welt stood tall, rolling his shoulders back, "when i said i couldn't wait to see you again, i meant it."

your silence aided him in his speech, urging him to continue with your curious eyes. welt took a deep breath, "i hope i will always get to see you. but i don't want to miss you any longer. i want you with me. you've been with me since the very day i joined the express. and, throughout the days where you haven't, i've come to realize that you mean so much to me. and i just now realized the extent of my feelings for you."

"the extent is beyond me. it turns out my feelings for you are more stronger than i thought. and i brought you out here to ask⎯" welt paused, preparing himself for the big question, "would you like to be my partner?" he paused, then added, "not just in express relations, but romantic relations, i mean."

you let out a brief chuckle. it was airy and soft, much like you. "i know."

there was a prolonged moment of silence between you two. from when you felt anxious and anticipating, welt now feels the way you felt. you fidgeted with your hands before walking a few steps closer to him.

"how could i say no?" you beamed.

and that was all he needed. though he said he was being truthful about his comment the other day, he did not say the full truth. he couldn't wait to see you, but he also couldn't wait to have you. welt couldn't wait for when he would finally be able to kiss you; couldn't wait until he could wrap his arms around you and finally call you his.

you smiled into the kiss, so benevolent and sweet. your hands made their way into his hair, most definitely messing it up. his hands trailed down to your waist, pulling you closer into him as the kiss continued.

when you two finally broke apart, both of you slightly panting, you laughed.

"what?" welt asked, smile not leaving his face.

"do you think they'll be worried?" you had your arms wrapped around his neck, smiling into his shoulder.

"himiko's up there," welt reassured you, "she'll manage, she's the boss. we can stay right here."

"good," you leaned it, "i wouldn't have it any other way," you smiled once more, locking your lips together with his for many times to come.

[cruciatusforeplay]

Hello I have Good Omens Brainrot like the rest of us, and I had a spare afternoon, so here is

Crowley and Aziraphale's Canonical Chronological History

(watching-guide with media timestamps so you can watch it all develop in order)

It's long so it's going under the cut. Let me know if there are errors beyond being out by a second or so. Also speedrunning two series of this show in an afternoon made me So Unwell (emotionally). I would absolutely recommend it.

I've broadly only included only clips that featured either one or both them as a focal point, or where the events would have informed their relationship, plus the option of the S2 finale in its entirety.

**Before the beginning, nebula** S2E1 0:00- 6:20 (up to opening credits)

**Just after the beginning, Garden of Eden, 4004BC** S1E1 1:55 (or 3:25 to skip Adam and Eve)-6:04 (opening credits)

**Noah's Ark, mesopotamia 3004BC** S1E3 0:00-2:47

**Job, 2500BC** S2E2 0:00-5:35, 22:30-40:01, 44:10-46:49 (end of episode)

**Crucifixion of Jesus, Golgotha, 33AD** S1E3 2:47-4:28 (continues directly to)

**Rome 41AD** S1E3 4:28-5:31 (continues directly to)

**Knights, kingdom of Wessex, 537AD** S1E3 5:31-7:56 (continues directly to)

**Bastille, Paris, 1793** S1E3 11:53-15:31

**The Globe Theatre London, 1601** S1E3 7:56-11:53 (continues directly to)

**Edinburgh, 1827** S2E3 8:34(post credits)-12:56, 17:38-22:10, 24:28-33:59

**St James' Park London, 1862** S1E3 15:31-17:29 (continues directly to)

**The Blitz, London, 1941** S1E3 17:29-24:07, recap can be skipped that can be skipped: S2E4 5:10(post credits)-6:14, 8:24-37:59

**Soho, London, 1967** S1E3 24:07-28:38 (opening credits)

**The M25 meeting, Hell, 1970s** S1E5 21:21-22:27

**The Antichrist, near Tadfield airbase, "11 years ago" ~2008** S1E1 7:32(post credits)-14:24, (optional baby drop off with Crowley) 19:24-20:14, 25:59-29:59, 30:14-32:24, 33:35-35:04 (continues directly to)

**Antichrist upbringing, "5 years later" ~2013** S1E1 35:04-39:30

**6 days before the end of the world, Monday, 2019** S1E1 40:45-43:19 (continues directly to)

**3 days before the end of the world, Wednesday, 2019** S1E1 43:19-44:08, 44:38-45:52, 48:01-49:11(to end credits)

**2 days before the end of the world, Thursday, 2019** S1E2 0:00-3:56, 21:16-23:33, 26:24-27:54, 31:04-32:10, 34:14-44:40, 45:36-46:21, 48:05-54:01 (to end credits)

**1 day before the end of the world, Friday, 2019** S1E3 30:07-31:14, 35:27-36:49, 38:48-41:30, 43:39-45:51, 49:41-49:53, 50:39-53:11

**The last day of the world, Saturday, 2019** S1E4 4:01-5:42, 8:15-9:28, 29:06-29:48, 33:29-42:00, 48:47-54:06 (to end credits)

**5 Hours and 48 Minutes to the End of the World, 2019** S1E5 0:00-1:32, 3:17(after credits)-4:17, 6:11-8:49, 11:01-13:25, 17:47(or 20:18 to skip the spirit of Ron)-21:00

**1 Hour and 43 Minutes to the End of the World, 2019** S1E5 21:00-21:21, 22:28-25:07, 26:49-31:43, 36:59-37:31

**17 minutes to the end of the world (and the rest ofbthat day), 2019** S1E5 46:24-49:25 (end credits), S1E6 1:53(2:35 to skip repeat section)-4:39, 8:19-9:49, 10:44-12:49, 14:02-27:10

**The very last day of the rest of their lives, 2019** S1E6 27:10- 28:07, 31:02-32:58, 0:00-1:46, 32:58-36:26, 42:33-45:45, 48:40-52:17

**London, present day (S2E1), ~2023** S2E1 7:48-13:15, 13:47-29:59, 33:00-36:13, 37:39-38:00, 38:19-42:41

**London, present day (S2E2), ~2023** S2E2 5:35-8:53 (to opening credits), 10:21-22:30, 40:04-43:28

**London/Edinburgh present day (S2E3), ~2023** S2E3 1:14-6:35, 6:47-7:07 (to opening credits), 12:57-14:36, 16:09-17:38, 22:11-24:27, 33:59-42:05(to end credits)

**London, present day (S2E4), ~2023** S2E4 0:00-3:42 (opening credits), 41:08-41:46, 42:02-43:09(end credits)

**London, present day (S2E5), ~2023** S2E5 0:48-2:57, 3:43-5:24, 7:07-8:04, 8:31-10:12, 12:29-13:32, 13:57-17:57, 19:33-29:52, 30:24-40:38

**London, present day (S2E6), ~2023** S2E6 0:00-4:52(to opening credits), 6:20-(optional 21:06-27:31 for Gabe and Muriel memories, otherwise continue to)end of ep

[zprites]

April TMNT All 4-1!

IT'S FINALLY HAPPENING! I WROTE ABOUT BLUE OMGOMGOMG lol - Honestly had such a hard time with writing this month's prompt, hence why it didn't come out sooner... I kept losing concentration while writing buuuttt I think that's my mental illness talking. Plus the new Dragon Age playthrough I started, shhhh lol.

Apologizes in advance if it's kinda lacking 😭

The Lovely Hosts - @thelaundrybitch, @post-apocalyptic-daydream, @leosgirl82, and @turtle-babe83!

Prompt - “What are you doing in my bed?”

Rise! Leo x GN! Reader and SFW -- Characters are in their 20s! Enjoy!!

Taglist: @turtle-babe83, @manduse, @morning-sun-brah, @crazysarah-98, @pacoholin, @iamdefinitelytheratking

Close Your Eyes, I Got You Now

Close your eyes I got you now Fall into me, and I'll catch you darlin'... Fall Into Me - Forest Blakk

It started off like any other day for you - your alarm blaring after you hit snooze several times too many, tripping over that damned rug in your bathroom you always swore you’d replace if it happened again (which it always did), speeding out the door after hastily pulling yourself together with nothing in your stomach besides a few sips of coffee you’d managed before you cursed at the time. You moved seamlessly through the crowd of New Yorkers as each one made their way to their destinations. The nearby subway station was packed as usual yet you were able to squeeze your way onto the last train that would allow you to make it to your job just in time for your shift. 

After five stops you stepped out of the car and briskly walked toward the stairs leading up to the streets above, taking two at a time. A quick glance at your phone showed that you would make it on time with only seconds to spare. 

However you ended up misjudging the amount of steps left until you reached the landing causing your feet to blunder beneath you. Your hand clamped around the metal railing that was thankfully beside you, allowing you to catch yourself before you got a mouthful of concrete. Unfortunately at the same time the person behind you bumped into your body, their coffee (iced, thankfully) spilling over your form. Instead of apologizing for their lack of attention to the world around them, they shouted obscenities at you for a moment before rushing past you, nose going back into their phone within seconds as they blended into the sea of people.

You arrived at work five minutes late. Your boss took one look at the liquid dripping from your hair and work uniform and ushered you into the bathroom for you to clean yourself up. Thankfully your uniform was dark colored though your hair remained sticky and grimy, the scent of coffee lingering on you throughout the entirety of your shift. Your coworkers did little to help your evergrowing foul mood, one of them being particularly inept for one reason or another, leaving you to deal with the brunt of customer scrutiny. To top it all off, a particular encounter with an elderly woman who wanted to return merchandise they purchased over a year ago with no receipt had you at your absolute limit. 

And it wasn’t even noon.

You were so fucking done with the day…

After clocking out you made the trek back to your apartment, wanting nothing more than to take a nice long shower and enjoy the comfort of your home in solitude. You had nothing planned and you were so, so ready to veg out in your bed with nothing but a glass of wine and the cast of The Office for company. 

You let out a sigh of relief once you stepped through your front door, kicking off your shoes with dramatic flair as you locked the door behind you. A yawn escaped you as your sock-clad feet padded lightly against the wooden flooring as you moseyed over to your bedroom. 

“Sweetie! You’re finally home!”

You stopped dead in your tracks and groaned a bit on the inside when you took in the scene before you. Your boyfriend, who you noticed was wearing only a pair of joggers, was laying on your bed though upon seeing you he instantly sat up, beaming at you as his dark eyes shone with glee. 

While this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, and normally a welcome one at that, today was different. When you didn’t want to deal with anyone for the remainder of the day, you meant it. This included your loving, handsome turtle mutant boyfriend. 

You blinked a few times at him as the frustration that had been building up inside you threatened to boil over. A moment passed as you struggled to say something that wouldn’t come across as completely rude - you didn’t want to take your foul mood out on him. 

“What are you doing in my bed?”

As soon as the words left your mouth you cringed inwardly, slapping a palm to your forehead in your mind at your choice in words. The way you said them wasn’t any better if you were to be honest. Your voice asked the question with a tautness you had hoped wouldn’t upset him. 

It didn’t. Leonardo kept his smile plastered on his face as he began speaking.

“Well after you texted me during your lunch break, I thought it would be nice to surprise you.”

You frowned a bit. Did you text him? You couldn’t remember…

Which only frustrated you further. On top of your evergrowing irritation, you didn’t even realize you had texted your boyfriend to complain about the world that seemingly had it out for you from the moment you woke up.

“- wanted to cheer you up! I just placed an order for take-out from that chinese place you love a few minutes ago and…”

And here he was. 

The overwhelming feeling that you didn’t deserve him hit you like a ton of bricks in that moment.

“- watch whatever you want while I rub your feet… Hey, why are you crying?”

You were crying?

You brought a hand to cheek and felt the saltwater trail from where a single tear had escaped from the moisture that had accumulated in your eyes. A dam broke and you began sobbing in earnest, letting out all of the stress and annoyance that had built up over the day in a matter of seconds. 

“Hey now… C'mere." Leo soothed as he took your hands in his, gently pulling you closer to him. You let him, allowing him to maneuver you so that you were sitting on his lap sideways, head tucked into his neck as your shoulders shook. 

The two of you stayed that way for several minutes until you felt yourself eventually calm down, your eyes no longer producing tears as your crying had seemed to run its course. Leo held you firmly against his plastron, rubbing circles across your back to comfort you. 

“I’m sorry…” You got out past a sniffle. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He spoke barely above a whisper. 

You let out a shaky sigh. “It’s just - today sucked. I was so happy to be home and have some much needed alone time, to decompress and forget about all the bullshit I had to deal with. I guess when I saw you here, I got even more upset, which is silly because I know you only want to help… I don’t know…” You trailed off. It was true, you felt extremely silly for the way you had reacted. 

“It’s okay, I understand. If I had known you wanted to be alone I wouldn’t have shown up unannounced like this.” 

You felt bad. Now that he was here, the idea of spending your evening with him sounded more favorable than spending it by yourself. You just wish you hadn’t broken down to the extent that you did. 

“I can go, if you still want to be left alone…” Leo offered with a hint of dejection laced in his words that would have been missed by most people. But not to you.

“No no no.” You lifted your head up to meet his gaze. “Stay, please.”

He smiled down at you, bringing a hand to wipe away the streaks on your cheeks. “Alright.”

The evening passed by slowly. Leo catered to your every need, insisting that you relaxed as he drew you a bath after the two of you had eaten. Once in bed he held good on his promise to massage your feet as the two of you laughed over several episodes of The Office. Eventually you started dozing off, your head rested on his shoulder as it became increasingly difficult for your eyes to stay open. You felt his lips press a kiss to your forehead as one final thought passed through your mind before sleep overtook you.

You knew that you could always count on him to turn even your shittiest of days into a good one.